Forbidden, Enduring Love
by TracyLeeT
Summary: The story of a family's loss, their struggle to move forward, and an unexpected blessing. To read more of this tale, see the sequel, Unchained Memories.
1. Chapter 1 - Facing The Day

**CHAPTER ONE**

_**FACING THE DAY**_

Narrow, dust-laden shafts of light thrust between the edges of the burgundy curtains and beamed diagonally across the second bedroom on the right. The scuffed pine floorboards bathed in the rays, soaking in their offering of warmth against the chill of early morning. A gentle, light wind puffed through the open window and the curtains' shift accompanied the rays as they danced across the floor in shimmers of light. That same breeze delivered to the bedroom the smells of earth and nature and, coupled with the warmth and sunshine, the promise of yet another new day.

The night had been no more than three hours old when he'd risen from the comfort of his bed and taken a front row seat to the wonders of the darkness. He sat precariously along the slender window sill, one foot against a corner, his back supported by another. His head rested heavily alongside the window pane, each breath spreading a circle of moisture that blurred his face to the stars looking down from above. Slumber had become sporadic, leaving him sluggish and irritable. His melancholy waxed and waned, never quite swelling to a state of happiness, nor plummeting to a condition of total despair.

_How can it be? How have I managed to face day after day, night after night, without him? Three months. THREE months! Dear God, how can it be? I miss him . . . so much. I need him, and you've taken him from me, from us. _

His breath clung desperately to the shelter of his lungs, as if emerging into the world would only prove the aching absence. He coughed, choking as the warm air forced its way against the cool pane. He hung his head and his misty eyes clamped shut as he ran his hand through his hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck. Through the closed, carved pine door, he heard the shuffling he'd come to dread as his father made his weary way to the staircase. He swung his leg from its perch and leaning against the sill, his fingers clasping its ledge, let out a sullen sigh.

Walking toward his dresser, he glanced at his bed, the crisp white sheets pristine and taut. Determined to mask his wakefulness from well-meaning souls, he yanked at the sheet's corners and poked at his pillow, then tugged at the tan blanket and set the quilt askew. Satisfied with his endeavor, he selected a neatly folded shirt from the middle drawer and a pair of trousers from the one below. As he straightened, the day's clothing in hand, he averted his eyes from the silver-plated picture frame atop the dresser. Resting on the edge of his bed, he slipped his legs into his trousers as the breeze caressed his morning-stiffened shoulders. A yawn crept forward from the back of his jaw and he stretched his arms and shoulders as his mouth widened and a breathy sigh escaped his lips. Running his hand over his chin, he scratched at the stubble and frowned. Knowing full well that his father's eyebrows would evoke disapproval, he chose to skip his before-breakfast shaving routine. A sigh escaped his mouth and nose as he trod to the washbasin. After pouring the pitcher's tepid water into the scallop-edged bowl, he washed the night's sweat from his arms, chest, and face, the evaporating water chilling him as the slowly warming breeze wafted across the room. He toweled himself dry and shuffled his bare feet back to his bed. He lifted the shirt, his fingers grasping the fabric by the shoulder seams. With a sharp flick, he shook the folded edges loose and slipped his left arm into its sleeve. The motion was rewarded with a dull ache in the muscles of his neck as they lodged their complaint for the hours of resting his head against the window pane. His left hand massaged the offending twinge, and then lingered absentmindedly at his neck as he stared at the small, hand-woven rug on the floor.

_I don't know how . . . or even if he'll get through this day. Hell, I don't know if I will either. What was it the Reverend said last week? 'Celebrate the memories'. How? How am I supposed to celebrate something that reaches into my chest and tears at my soul? . . . .Three months? How can it be?_

A summons to the breakfast table beckoned from downstairs, snapping him from his numbing stare. "I'll be right down!" he yelled as he slithered his right arm into the sleeve. He stood at his bed lethargically buttoning first his trousers, then his shirt. Back at his dresser, he grasped the handle of his ivory-colored porcelain hairbrush and trailed it through his hair, pressing so that the bristles grazed his waking scalp. Satisfied by his appearance with merely a fleeting glance in the ornamental mirror hanging above the basin table, he pulled on his socks and boots. Reluctantly, he twisted the doorknob, opened the bedroom door and trudged down the hallway to the top of the staircase. The sight of the dining table set for two and the smell of fresh baked bread, coffee brewing, and sweet, salty ham frying pervaded his senses. He inhaled deeply as his father entered from the kitchen balancing his first cup of coffee on the delicate, pink-trimmed saucer.

_I can get through this. I have to. For Pa, I just have to._

With a sharp exhale, he descended the stairs, the bounce in his step an attempted charade, and as he crossed the great room, he coerced a pleasant smile to his lips.

"Morning, Pa," he said as he settled into his chair.

"Morning," Ben said, his voice straining against the burden growing in his throat, "son."

Over the past three months, each meal together left him hankering for familiar voices laughing and sharing tales of the day and memories from the past. Today's breakfast was no exception. There was talk of the day's chores: talk that was void of emotion. There were inquiries about mail and supplies and such: inquiries of 'things' and duties. But as had become the norm, there was no conversation.

Nearly finishing his second cup of coffee, he drew the cup from his lips and stared at the scattered grounds floating on the bottom. He swirled the brown liquid and the grounds spread apart, clinging to the inside of the cup, each one isolated from the others. He looked from one teeny speck to the other, saddened by their distance at his own hand. It was at that moment that his father pushed his chair from the table, stood, and without pardon, walked as he had every morning for the past four months to his burgundy chair. He considered his father, plunking down against the worn upholstery and settling in to stare blankly at the ghostly flames of the fireplace.

_What do I say to him? Do I say anything at all? He remembers. I know he does. What will make it easier on him? Mentioning it, or ignoring it? Will it hurt him to think I've forgotten? Surely he knows I could never forget!_

He tipped his cup, forcing the droplets of coffee to wash over the grounds, inviting them to reunite in the bottom of the cup. One tip of the cup followed another and another until all of the grounds, save one, floated closely together in the base of the cup. Several more attempts resulted in the same. One solitary ground lingered against the side of the cup, unable to join the gathering, unable to reunite. Heaving a sigh, he gently placed the cup atop its saucer. With his elbows resting on the table, he laced his calloused fingers together and sank his chin heavily onto his hands. He heard his father shift in his chair, and he longed for some bit of meaningful conversation with the man he admired and loved. But the exchange did not take place, and he closed his eyes to the hollowness he felt inside.

When the front door opened, he turned lifeless eyes to the man who entered. His father raised his eyes to the man, nodded and returned his gaze to whatever tale he saw unfolding in the flames.

"Morning, Mr. Cartwright. Morning, Joe," Candy said, hurrying to the table. He lowered his voice as he continued. "Anything?"

Despondently, Joe shook his head as Candy glanced toward the hearth.

"I don't appreciate the whispers," Ben said roughly. "If you've got something to say, just say it!"

Candy and Joe exchanged worried glances. Together, they walked the short distance, dreading the destination with every step. Candy flanked Joe as they stood behind the settee, eyes lowered, neither knowing what to say or do to cut the tension in the room. The crackling of the fire was softened by the sounds of their breathing, but no one uttered a word. When Joe mustered a hidden pocket of strength and opened his mouth to speak, his father said the words they'd been afraid to speak aloud.

"I remember."


	2. Chapter 2 - Compassion Unforeseen

**CHAPTER TWO**

_**COMPASSION UNFORESEEN**_

The remainder of the day dragged on endlessly for everyone on the Ponderosa. Mundane chores were carried out with efficient speed and apathy as silence was met with occasional questions and one-word answers. The sometimes raucous, jovial ranch hands had transformed into sullen, soft-spoken men, and their whispers and compassionate glances rendered Joe speechless throughout the day. _How did they know? A few of them were here last year, but would they really remember? Maybe . . . Candy! He must have told them._ He overheard murmurs of concern and questions asking if anyone had managed to catch a glimpse of Ben Cartwright. Knowing that no one had seen his father all day added to the weight that compressed Joe's chest.

Cochise nickered, swinging his head from left to right as Joe rubbed his neck and shoulder. Speaking softly to the paint pony, Joe reached for a brush and with long, steady strokes, started to work on the horse's withers.

"Mr. Joe take very good care of horses," Hop Sing said, his usual, silent approach giving no warning of his presence.

Joe jerked, startled by the familiar, yet unexpected, voice. Leaning against Cochise, his forearms resting against the horse's withers, Joe shook his head and chuckled. "Hop Sing, you about scared me outta two years' growth!"

"Little Joe cannot afford so many inches!"

A slight smile drew the corners of Joe's lips upward. "Yeah, Hop Sing, I know," Joe assured as he returned his attention to the horses. Glimpses of Hop Sing as he fidgeted and darted his eyes about the barn generated an apprehension in Joe that left him full of dread. He sighed, feeling his pulse thumping against his neck. "Hop Sing," Joe said, "is there something you need?"

The obviously flustered man clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his eyes. The uncharacteristic gesture left Joe battling the lump forming in his throat. "What is it, Hop Sing?" Joe murmured.

The humble man raised his head, and Joe's breathing snagged, trapped beneath a mound of unspoken emotion.

"Hop Sing want . . . need tell Little Joe he very . . . he not know how . . . Hop Sing miss him, too. Very, very much."

Suddenly, Joe's insides crumpled. The anguish in Hop Sing's voice and the sight of his welling eyes opened the path to Joe's own release. A whimper escaped his throat as his jaw bulged and his teeth clamped together, and he watched as Hop Sing blinked, tears streaming proudly down his cheeks.

"Hop Sing go now. Dinner be ready in ten minute." He nodded, his brief glance at Joe impeding his leave. His heart ached at the face of the little boy he'd helped raise – a face now overcome with immeasurable loss. Stepping forward, Hop Sing opened his arms as Joe fell into his embrace. Holding Joe tightly, Hop Sing said a silent, ancient Chinese prayer, asking that the sadness be lifted from his family and that the hearts of those he loved dearly be healed. With a sigh, he loosened his hold on the young man. "Dinner ready in ten minute . . . I no go back China if you there in fifteen."

Joe stared through blurred eyes as Hop Sing turned and shuffled across the yard and into the side kitchen door. Although he never doubted Hop Sing's loyalties to the Cartwright family, Joe realized that sometimes, he overlooked the love that existed between them.

Hop Sing, hired when Ben realized his dream of homesteading on the Ponderosa Pine-covered wilderness, played an essential role in the childhoods of Adam and especially, Hoss. Though what little English he spoke at that time was broken and difficult to understand, Hop Sing discovered ways of interacting with Ben's young sons that left the boys enriched beyond measure. Years later, when Ben married Marie, Hop Sing was sincerely elated by the thought of another child in 'his' house. The adjustment of sharing that third child with two parents instead of one proved trying for the Cartwright's live-in houseman. Adam and Hoss's genuine affection for their newborn brother quickly eased the tension between mother and surrogate, and Hop Sing assumed the role of unofficial 'uncle' to the boys. On that horrific day when Marie died, it was Hop Sing who comforted the boys while Ben grieved his unfathomable loss, and in the weeks that followed, it was Hop Sing who supplied the stability that Ben found impossible to provide.

And now, years later, as Hop Sing entered the dining room, one hand balancing a small tray of pork chops, the other, a small bowl of mashed potatoes, he sighed as he glanced at the table set for two. His mind sped through time, summoning scenes from the thirty-one celebrations he'd been a part of, and his heart grieved for the thirty-second birthday that would have been celebrated that evening. After resting the tray and bowl atop the tatted tablecloth, Hop Sing shambled into the living room and announced the evening meal. "Dinner leady, Mr. Cartwright."

"Thank you, Hop Sing," was Ben's detached reply.

"Little Joe finish up in barn. He come in minute."

Hop Sing watched as Ben nodded, rose stiffly from his chair, and made his way to the table. Twice that day, he'd been on the verge of expressing his feelings to Ben, just as he'd done to Joe earlier in the barn. In truth, Hop Sing not only respected Ben, but loved him deeply. Despite those feelings, presenting himself with his emotions on display was more inappropriate than sharing his grief with the boss's son. Instead, Hop Sing turned and scurried to the kitchen, returning with the small, silver coffee pot, the sugar bowl, and Marie's delicate, pink cream pitcher.

As he poured Ben's coffee, the click of the front door's latch signaled Joe's entry into the house. After removing his gun belt and laying it atop the credenza, he removed his hat and hung it on the hat rack next to his father's. Two empty pegs caught his eye, and he chastised himself for not acknowledging those same pegs each and every time he slung his hat into place. A burdensome sigh escaped his lungs as he pictured four hats on the rack, and as he turned toward the dining room, the sight of two gun belts where once there were four brought a tingle to his nose and eyes.

_Keep it together, Joe! The day's nearly over. Keep it together for Pa! _"Hi, Pa," Joe said as he quickly took his seat at the dining table. "The horses are all tucked in for the night."

"Good."

Joe raised his fork and stabbed at a pork chop on the tray. He accepted the bowl of potatoes from his father and received a simple nod for his polite thanks. Green beans, gravy, and the sugar bowl were passed, all with the same minimal niceties from the man seated at the head of the table. The remainder of the meal was spent in silence except for Hop Sing's welcome interruption when he added a small plate of fresh baked bread to the offerings. As Joe poured his third cup of coffee, his father slid his empty plate toward the center of the table, blotted the corners of his mouth with his white, linen napkin, and folded his hands together atop the hand-made tablecloth. Joe sipped his coffee and peered at his father from over the top of his cup. He recognized Ben's gestures, and knew that his father was about to broach a difficult subject.

"Joseph," Ben said, "I owe you an apology. I've . . . I've wasted today, and the past few days leading up to this day, by refusing to share my . . . grief with the people who are mourning just as I am."

"Pa . . ."

"Let me finish, please, son. It's been three months. Three months since Hoss . . . since he was lost to us. And today, of all days, I should have been there for you and for Hop Sing and for Candy. But most importantly, I should have been there for you. I'm sorry that I allowed myself to be lost so deep in my own sadness that I . . ."

"Pa," Joe said, reaching for his father's hand, "I know, and it's all right."

Ben grasped Joe's hand tightly between both of his.

"Thank you, son."

Joe nodded, and gently squeezed his father's hands.

When a soft voice spoke up, both Ben and Joe turned to see Candy standing, hat in hand, next to the settee.

"I'm sorry to intrude," Candy said softly, his eyes downcast. "I guess you didn't hear me come in. I, uh, I can leave if you'd like."

"No, please, Candy, come in," Ben insisted as Joe slipped his hand from Ben's grasp. "Would you like something to eat?"

"No, sir," Candy replied nervously, turning his hat in his hands. "I've already eaten . . . with the hands. Uh, that's why I came in," he continued as he sat next to Joe at the table. "They asked me to . . . well, I said I would come in and . . ."

"What is it, Candy?" Ben asked.

"Well, sir, they, uh . . . they asked me to tell you that, well, that they all miss Hoss, a lot. And that they think about him, a lot. And well . . . they wanted you to know that tonight, we all shared stories about Hoss at dinner in the bunkhouse. A lot of stories. And, well, it didn't make us miss him any less, but it did make us smile a little to remember him. And, well, that's all, I guess."

Ben choked back the lump in his throat, and Joe's chin quivered as he looked away.

Together, they sat in silence, each one remembering the gentle man who'd died three months ago; the son, the brother, and the friend who on that day would have shared the celebration of his thirty-second birthday.

From the hallway, Hop Sing stood leaning against the wall, paying his own unspoken tribute to the chubby little baby who'd grown before his eyes into a giant of a man.

The reverence of the moment was lost as the latch of the front door clicked and clanged. The sudden, slight breeze that danced like feathers across their skin twirled and dipped until a shudder ran through all four men. Time seemed trapped, forced to press against the air, as if every movement was an action in slow motion. Joe glanced at his father before looking at Candy, and together, the three men stood as one as Hop Sing wandered in from the kitchen hallway. Slowly, as they turned in tandem to face the opened front door, a voice pierced the air with such familiarity that the weight of time was released from them all.

"Hi, Pa. I'm home."


	3. Chapter 3 - Bittersweet Welcome

**CHAPTER THREE**

_**BITTERSWEET WELCOME**_

"Adam!" The name rolled from his tongue in an eerie, ghostly whisper. Ben sensed his body collapse forward and as he grabbed the table's edge, his lips silently formed the name once again.

"ADAM!" Joe shouted, launching his chair to the floor as he traveled the distance between himself and his eldest brother in two gigantic strides. He flung himself against his grinning brother and as Adam's muscular arms wrapped him in an emotional embrace, Joe was suddenly a young boy again, lost in the passion of a long-awaited homecoming.

"Joe," Adam sighed, rocking his welcomed burden back and forth. He clamped his eyes tightly, the prickle in his nose giving warning. Resting his chin atop Joe's head, Adam was carried away to memories of the past and a little boy's silky, raven hair against his cheek.

Joe raised his head, still clutching his brother's waist. Green eyes met hazel eyes, and Joe's mounting tears surged forward, spilling down his face and dripping from his chin. "Oh, Adam," he sighed.

"I know, Joe, I know." Adam felt Joe tremble and he pulled his brother close once again. Joe buried his face against Adam's broad chest, his body shaking with each silent sob. Cradling Joe's head in his hand, Adam allowed himself to look across the room, holding fast to Joe as he scrutinized the young man next to his father. The man, clearly moved by the reunion, had turned his attention to Ben. His father's stare frightened Adam and, obviously, the stranger as well.

Candy stepped closer to Ben, his reassuring hand on Ben's shoulder garnering no response. About to insist that Ben sit, Candy was interrupted when Hop Sing approached and offered the same.

"Mister Cartwright? You need sit down?"

Sensing the worry in Hop Sing's voice, Joe lifted his tear-stained face and pulled away from the comforting arms of his older brother. Adam kept his hands on his brother, afraid to lose contact with the young man he had longed to see since the day he'd left the Ponderosa. Still, his father's pale face was drawing him away and so Adam held Joe by the shoulders, squeezed his support into the well-defined muscles, and slowly crossed the room toward his father.

"Pa," Adam said, his voice tentative as he approached the table.

Hop Sing and Candy stood aside as Joe, wiping his face with his sleeve, followed behind Adam.

"Adam!" Ben cried, waving-off Adam's extended hand and instead, scooping his son into his arms. Tears of joy blended with tears of sorrow, the fusion cascading down Ben's cheeks and trickling onto Adam's shirt. Their joyful embrace was companioned by Ben's unspoken prayer of thanks. But as he ended his prayer, a sudden surge of sorrow swelled deep from within, the current so powerful that Ben staggered in Adam's arms. "Adam. Oh, Adam!" Ben wept, his fingers clutching at Adam's back.

"I've known it was true, Pa, but . . . I just couldn't . . ."

"I know, son. I know."

Time ceased to pass, frozen in the shared mourning of father and son. Hop Sing, his head lowered in respect, closed his eyes and recalled the tragic day, the memories as shocking and painful as if they were taking place again three months later. Candy made his way to the fireplace and steadied his hand against the cold, lifeless stones. His eyes welled with unspent tears as he remembered a conversation with his treasured friend. "I don't know if we'll ever see Adam agin, Candy. I shore do hope we will, but . . . All I know fer shore is, I miss him . . . Ev'ry day I miss my brother." Candy's throat closed and he swallowed hard, trying to regain control. _I'm sorry you didn't get to see him again, Hoss. Real sorry. Hoss, I miss ya, my friend!_

A sharp rap at the front door breached the somber stillness. "I've got it," Candy said, silently cursing whomever it was that chose that moment on that evening to pay a call to the Ponderosa. He opened the door and immediately stepped outside, leaving the door just barely ajar as he forced the intruder to back up onto the porch. A few moments later, Candy quietly returned to the house, intending to leave a message with Hop Sing.

Joe, now standing alongside his father and brother, nodded toward Ben's desk and crossed the room to meet Candy there. After a brief explanation, Joe clapped Candy on the back and walked him to the front door. Their exchange had not gone unnoticed, and as Adam and Ben crossed the room, Candy felt the hair on his neck bristle.

"Is there a problem, Candy?" Ben asked, his voice deeper and thicker, his eyes puffed and red.

"Nothing I can't handle, Mr. Cartwright," Candy said, reaching for his hat and gun belt. "I'll fill you in in the morning." Ben nodded and Candy turned, wrapping his fingers around the doorknob. He wavered, scrunched his lips together, and turned to face the source of his hesitation.

"Oh, I apologize. Where are my manners?" Ben said, his face beaming at his eldest son. "Candy Canaday, this is my son, Adam. Adam, this is Candy, trusted foreman of the Ponderosa."

Candy inhaled deeply, extended his arm and shook the hand of Adam Cartwright. "Nice to finally meet the _long_, _lost_ brother."

Adam's eyebrows shifted, sensing the tension in Candy's gaze as well as his words. With a questioning smile, he spoke to the man his father, Joe, and Hoss had written about. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Canaday," Adam said, _Oh, hell, why not, _then added, "from Pa, Joe, and mostly, from Hoss."

His hand still clasped firmly with Adam's, Candy softened, momentarily, at the mention of Hoss's name. "Hoss was a fine friend," Candy said, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Now it was Adam's turn, and he reconsidered the hostility he'd sensed coming from the man Hoss had spoken so fondly of in his letters. "Thank you, Candy," Adam replied, "and I'm sorry for yours."

"I'd uh, I'd best be gettin' to that little matter," Candy said, tipping his head and turning the doorknob. "Mr. Cartwright . . ." he said, his eyes on Adam.

"Please, call me Adam."

"Alright, Adam," Candy said. "Welcome home."


	4. Chapter 4 - Essential Exposure

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**_ESSENTIAL_****_EXPOSURE_**

In the two days since his return, the dynamics between Adam and Candy continued to shift back and forth. Opinions changed for the worst, and then bounced in the opposite direction. It was apparent to both of the men that something stood between them, and that something was trust. The constant push and pull of their strong personalities had not gone unnoticed and, on that second day, as the subtle insults and masked accusations continued, Joe decided he'd had enough.

He watched from the porch as Candy strode smugly from the barn, mounted Scout, and rode off for a night of poker in Virginia City. As he crossed the yard, Joe heard the end result of Adam and Candy's latest verbal sparring match. He stopped just inside the barn door and folded his arms across his chest. Inside, Adam tossed an empty feed bucket against the wall, kicked at a pile of hay, and heaved a horse brush at the cockeyed bucket. Joe waited patiently for his brother's tantrum to wane, but when Adam began muttering under his breath Joe's staying power came to an end.

"If I'd known you were redecorating the barn, I'd've boughtcha some lace curtains for the windows."

Adam startled, spinning to face his brother. Joe held his ground and unwavering, returned Adam's glare. A sigh of angry air burst from Adam's lungs. His lips tightened against his teeth and he scratched behind his ear, squared his shoulders, and shook his head. "You got something else to say?" Adam asked. "'Cause if you don't, I've got chores to finish before Hop Sing's over-cooked roast has him threatening to quit." Before Joe could respond, Adam grabbed the hay rake and started scraping along the barn floor.

"Yeah, I've got something else to say," Joe replied as he ambled into the barn and propped a foot on the upside-down bucket. Leaning against a stall partition, he yanked at a long piece of straw wedged within the strands of yarn of an Indian-made blanket. "Just what is it that you don't like about Candy?" Joe watched Adam pull the rake inward and saw the irritation on his brother's face.

Although both he and Joe stood leisurely, the disparity of their stances shown clearly on the faces of the two men. "Now, just what is it that makes you think I don't like 'Candy'?"

Joe harrumphed. "Maybe the way you bridle when you say his name!"

"I did not," Adam shouted before reining in his volume and spitting his final word, "bridle!" Returning to his task, Adam turned and, in frustration, expanded his raking strokes.

Joe scratched his head, the straw between his fingers wagging back and forth with each scratch. "Okay. Okay. Guess I heard bridling where there was none."

Each soft thud of Adam's rake was followed by the whoosh of hay dragging across the hardened dirt floor. Joe shifted, leaning his back against the side of the stall as he stripped thin, stiff threads from the piece of straw. _Four, three, two, wa. . ._

"Are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna make yourself useful?" Adam barked, tossing his rake with perfect precision.

Joe grinned, pleased with himself for predicting Adam's behavior after all this time. He snared the flying implement with ease as Adam ambled to the corner for another. _Still the same old Adam._ "Sure thing!" Joe said in a snarky tone. "I wouldn't want you to overexert yourself your first week back, Older Brother!" The words rolled from Joe's mouth as innocently as if he'd said hello. His heart responded with an ache of emptiness and regret welled in his eyes. _Older Brother . . . _

Adam, rake in hand, steadied himself against Sport's hindquarter, Joe's simple words constricting against his chest. Together, they stood, reeling from the stabbing blow in shared, deafening silence. Adam was first to gather himself and soon, without so much as a glance from brother to brother, the youngest and eldest worked in tandem, wasting no time in making short work of distributing the hay. Satisfied with the result, Adam offered a hand and Joe slid his rake against Adam's waiting fingers. Once he'd stowed them in their proper places, Adam breathed in deeply, trusting that the expanse in his chest would summon the courage he desperately needed. Without turning to face his brother, his somber, staring eyes heavily hazed with dread, Adam, his voice a mere whisper, made the request he'd been avoiding for the past two days. "Joe . . . tell me what happened."

Joe's skin stung as his breath seized in his lungs, the gentle tingle that followed trickled downward as the blood drained from his face. "Adam . . ." Joe murmured, uncertainty washing over his features.

"I need to know, Joe," Adam said, "and I won't . . . I can't ask Pa."

Joe agreed that Adam wouldn't and shouldn't ask this recounting of their father. The first weeks after Hoss's death, Joe had caged his own grief as he tended to his father's needs. So securely imprisoned were his own struggles that he'd even refused the help of countless, well-meaning townsfolk and ranch hands. Efforts to assist in the arrangement of a memorial gathering by Hop Sing, Roy Coffee, and Paul Martin had been at first, shunned, and ultimately, denied. With Adam away, Joe had propelled himself into the role of patriarch and he prayed each and every night that the daunting responsibility would be temporary. His pa had begun the long, battling journey to coping with the loss of his beloved middle son, and with Adam's welcomed, though unforeseen return, Joe knew that he, too, had begun the journey.

"Alright, Adam," Joe agreed. "You might want to . . ." Joe's thought played out before his eyes as Adam grabbed an old wooden crate and a sturdy, broad stepstool and placed them in the center of the barn. Joe sat first, his mind wasting no time as it deliberated as to the most sensitive approach for the tale he was about to share. He watched as Adam sized up the stool.

Reluctantly, Adam lowered himself toward the bench, and as gravity pressed him impatiently toward its surface, his heart strained, pressing upward, laboring to avoid the inevitable – learning the particulars of the day Hoss Cartwright died. When his weight settled on the worn surface, his heart abandoned its efforts, yielding to the task at hand. He rested his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands, and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Adam," Joe said, more out of sympathy, but with a tinge of selfish respite, "we don't have to . . ."

"Yes, Joe," Adam sighed, "we do. Can you start from that morning? I . . . I want to know it all. Every last detail."

"Alright, then." Joe leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, his hands working feverishly to strip another strand of straw. "It was May ninth . . . the last time I saw Hoss."


	5. Chapter 5 - Painful Disclosure

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**_PAINFUL DISCLOSURE_**

_May ninth . . . _Joe's heart sunk. May ninth was the day Hoss and Candy had set out for Zach Donnelly's and Sidewinder Bluff. Hoss couldn't wait to reach the welcome place of retreat each of the Cartwright brothers had held so dear. Sidewinder Bluff had become a place of solace ever since Adam, at the young age of six, became intrigued by the desolate tract of land he encountered after he, his father, and his infant brother Hoss said their farewells to the rest of the wagon train that had accompanied the Cartwrights on their journey across the United States. The final length of their journey from Octave, Arizona to Virginia City, Nevada had taken its toll on everyone, yet young Adam thrived with excitement and curiosity at the sight of the inhospitable region of the Territory of Nevada known as Sidewinder Bluff. Innocently, he chattered non-stop about the gradual change in terrain, the rough, barren wasteland transforming gradually into lush, green forests. But it wasn't until their wagon crested the bluff on its northernmost tip that Adam truly became fascinated by the harsh, desolate bluff, a stark contrast to the towering pines along the slopes and the azure-blue of Lake Tahoe below. As he grew, and especially after he began his own pilgrimages to the bluff shortly after his fifteenth birthday, this vast area, with its tumbleweed-littered desert, lofty verdant trees, and the jumbled area in between, continued to captivate Adam's imagination and his boyish sense of wonder.

The year Adam returned to Virginia City from his years away at college, he'd decided to disclose his favorite spot, confident that his fourteen-year-old brother would share his appreciation of the splendor of Sidewinder Bluff and the corridor that lead to the magnificence of Lake Tahoe. Adam had been right. Hoss, enchanted by the region from the moment they arrived, insisted that he and Adam make an annual trek, which they did for the next five years. The sixth year Joe was included, and for an additional six years after that, the three brothers traveled the spectacular passes toward the bluff, relaxing and bonding at its peak. And even when Adam's spirit was drawn away from the Ponderosa and his absence threatened to end their tradition, Hoss yearned for the memories of their time together and vowed to continue the pilgrimage. However, Joe, deeply wounded by the absence of his eldest brother, refused to make the journey, leaving Hoss to travel the distance alone and wondering why his little brother was rejecting their tradition.

And so, five years after Adam's departure, when the opportunity arose for Hoss to pay a visit to Zachariah Donnelly's small horse ranch, he quickly offered that Joe should accompany him on the trip. Zachariah's spread sat on the outskirts of the Sidewinder Bluff area and Hoss hoped that, the time of year being different from his annual visit, Joe might be tempered enough to join him on the trail.

"C'mon, Joe!" Hoss had begged. "We kin ride up ta Zach's little place 'n' pick out the twenty mares Pa wants. That'd take, what, two days up 'n' two days ta decide on the horses? 'N' then we kin leave 'em with Zach, take us a little side trip ta Sidewinder Bluff 'n' then follow the Truckee down ta the lake, maybe take in a show 'er two at that fancy saloon outside o' Reno." Hoss eyebrows wiggled with the thought of the scantily clad performers that he, Adam, and Joe had seen in that saloon. "Then we kin swing back 'n' pick up the horses on our way back. C'mon, Joe! Whatdya say?"

"Hoss!" Joe yelled. "Do ya mind? I'm right in the middle of a game!" Joe fidgeted, drew his left leg upward and tucked it beneath him, biting down on his bottom lip as he stared at the chess board and his father's last move. Joe had flinched at the sound of Hoss turning away and making his way to the front door, and at the sound of the door's latch, remorse had coursed through Joe's body. Even now, as Joe stood in the barn, regret threatened to consume him.

"You didn't go after him?" Adam asked.

Joe's head drooped as he felt Adam's eyes bearing down on him. "No," Joe whispered. "I only wish to God I had."

Though at first Adam resisted, his heart set his arm in motion, encouraging a gentle squeeze of Joe's shoulder.

"Joe . . ."

"I'm all right, Adam," Joe insisted. "You need to hear it all." With one swift, determined stroke, Joe wiped his cheeks with his shirt sleeve. "Pa and I were still playing that damned game of chess . . ."

"Joe," Ben had said, interrupting his son's reflection. "It's your move, son."

Joe picked up his rook and moved it horizontally, triggering a lift to his father's thick brown eyebrows and encouraging a twinkle in his eyes. Joe smiled, pulled his other leg beneath him and massaged his socked toes. His focus on the game waned quickly and once again, his thoughts drifted. _I know he misses Hoss just as much as I do. Maybe even more. Adam and Hoss . . .they had something real special . . . a connection that started the day Hoss's momma died, I figure. Adam takin' care of Hoss, lookin' out for him, keepin' him safe, and even stickin' his Yankee granite head nose in where it didn't belong . . . and him being right, mostly. Geez, I sure do miss Adam. It's never been the same, just me n' Hoss ridin' out for a Saturday dance or headin' out for a long day of chores . . . the two of us watchin' each other's backs, keepin' an eye on Pa . . . Damn. The two of us. Me 'n' Hoss. And I'm pushin' him away._

"Joseph," Ben said, interrupting yet again. "It's your move, again, son."

Joe looked down at the chess board, wiping at his nose with the back of his wrist. "I know, Pa. I just don't see a move I can make that won't lose me the game."

Ben leaned forward, slid his elbows onto the table, and rested his chin atop his clasped hands. "Joe, sometimes working your way through the obstacles one move at a time can open new pathways; pathways that just might surprise you and lead you on to a victory."

Joe paused in his recollection and pondered the irony in his father's words that night. The "obstacle" they all faced now in the loss of Hoss was more than any of them could bear.

"Sounds like Pa was trying to make a point," Adam said. "Joe, is there a reason you didn't want to go to Zach's?"

Joe glared at Adam, then looked away with a sharp turn of his head. He kicked at the hay in front of the crate, got to his feet, and crossed the barn to the stall where Cochise stood munching hungrily on his nightly feast of oats.

"Joe?" Adam pushed.

"You asked me to tell ya about that day, Adam," Joe cried, leaning at arms' length against the stall partition, his fingers clenched over the upper edge. "Now let me tell it in my own way!" Joe's frustrated voice startled his horse and Cooch raised his head and brushed his nose against Joe's whitened knuckles. Joe shook his head, sighed, and stroked Cooch's muzzle. "Please."

"I'm listening," Adam whispered, wondering what Joe was keeping to himself about the day Hoss died.

"So, after the chess game," Joe explained, "I decided I should talk to Hoss."

Joe had slipped the chess board onto the shelf; the pieces staged in their appropriate squares and his most recent victory already a distant memory. He wanted to talk to Hoss, to open up, at least a little, concerning his reservations about visiting Sidewinder Bluff. His father's analogy had at first given him pause, but Joe knew in his heart that he owed Hoss an explanation, if not an apology. For reasons that Joe did not comprehend, Hoss needed to continue the visits to the place they'd come to refer to as 'Adam's special spot' – a name that Adam himself had used, a name that made Adam's eyes gleam, his vision instantly transporting him from the ranch to the bluff.

"Dinner will be ready soon, Joe," Ben mentioned as Joe sauntered to the front door. "Where are you going?" he inquired cooly.

"I need to talk to Hoss, Pa," Joe replied. _I need to tell him I'm ready to make the trip. And I need to tell him I'm sorry._

The cooling breeze skimmed across the treetops, diving freely as it entered the yard. Joe strolled to the barn, enjoying the wisps of air as they ruffled through his hair. He slowed his approach as he neared the opened doors, collecting his thoughts and corralling his emotions. Moments later, he stepped closer and, hearing voices where he'd expected silence, he hesitated and listened. _Candy's in there with Hoss. Hm. I've come this far. Candy'll leave if I tell him I need to speak to Hoss. _Joe swallowed, rolled his shoulders, and took another two steps toward the barn. _Here goes. _Joe froze at the words he heard.

"A trip to this Sidewinder Bluff sounds great, Hoss! I could really use a little relaxation right about now," Candy said. "And I'd fare well to get away for a bit."

"It's been a rough two weeks, I know," Hoss said. "Jake gettin' himself mixed up with that crooked drover in town 'n' the shooting 'n' . . . I know you 'n' Jake was close."

"Wasn't so much that we were close, Hoss," Candy explained. "We weren't, really. It's just that . . . well, if I'd remembered where I'd seen that drover sooner, I might have been able to stop Jake from gettin' involved in the whole thing 'n' maybe, just maybe, Jake would be alive today."

"'Tweren't your fault, Candy," Hoss consoled. "You did tell Jake that ya wasn't shore where ya'd seen him, 'n' that ya had a bad feelin' about the fella."

Standing outside the barn, Joe imagined Hoss kicking at the dirt and straw on the barn floor, waiting for Candy to break the awkward silence.

"Thanks, Hoss," Candy said. "I know I did what I could, but I feel like I let Jake down."

"Well," Hoss said, "ya didn't do no such thing. 'N' you 'n' me 'r' gonna ride out ta ole Zach's place 'n' have us a fine time."

Joe turned, his shoulders slumping, and walked the narrow path through the trees, stopping to sit on the old pine bench in the small, circular clearing. He propped his elbows on his knees, hung his head, and clasped his hands at the nape of his neck. _I've been selfish long enough. Candy's been blaming himself for Jake dying. He needs to get away, and Hoss is the one he should get away with. Before Candy knows it, Hoss'll have him smilin' and laughin' . . . We can't all three of us be gone at the same time. Pa needs someone here while he's back and forth to Virginia City. Who knows how many trips he'll hafta make to get those new contracts all revised and set just so. Candy should be the one to go with Hoss – this time. Then I'll be here ta run things so Pa can concentrate on the contract negotiations. That settles it. I'll talk to Hoss after dinner . . . Let him know that later this year, I'll go with him to Sidewinder Bluff. I know Pa will give us the go ahead. Come October ninth, Hoss and I will make Adam's trip to the bluff. My brother and me. _Joe sat thinking, and as the solitude reinforced his decisions, he began looking forward to the journey in October. He startled when Hop Sing's voice pierced his thoughts.

"Dinner leady! Ev'lybody come now!"

Joe hurried into the house, followed shortly by Hoss and Candy. Throughout the meal, Joe's mood wavered from excitement to tension; the anticipation of watching Hoss's face when he heard the news that Joe would make the annual trek that year contrasting with the anxiety of apologizing for the five years that he'd tucked himself away from the memories he and Hoss should have been creating.

After dinner, the third game of checkers dragged on as Joe glanced over and over at the old grandfather clock across the room. He had yet to find the opportunity to speak with his brother: dinner had not been the time, what with his father at the table; the rain outside continued to pummel the windows; and the rest of the evening he'd found his father watching him closely, no doubt wondering if he and Hoss had soothed the uneasy distance between them. Realizing the lateness of the hour, Joe decided that the only solution was bluntness, and he hoped his father would understand.

"Pa," Joe said, his voice pleading forgiveness.

Joe had barely finished saying his name when Ben closed the book he'd scarcely read a word of all evening. "Well, boys, I think I'll turn in early. Hoss, I'll see you for breakfast before you and Candy head out. Joe," he added, "I hope you'll be up at that hour to see your brother off."

"I will, Pa," Joe promised. "After all, if Hoss and Candy are in a hurry to get going in the morning, there'll be more bacon and flapjacks for me!"

Ben smiled and Joe smirked, a warm feeling settling comfortably in Joe's heart. As Ben made his way to the staircase, Joe saw him glance back at the table and shake his head in amusement.

"Night, boys," Ben said as he climbed the final steps.

"Night, Pa," they replied. Joe's gaze lingered at the staircase, his nerve diminishing.

"Your move, Little Brother," Hoss muttered.

"Hoss! This board looks different!" Joe chastised.

Joe's observation brought a chuckle from Adam that quickly swelled to a belly-laugh. "Some things never change! I can't believe the two of you are still at it!" He felt the stabbing pain in his chest before he'd even finished his unfortunate choice of words. Jumping to his feet, Adam forced his body through the heaviness that pervaded the air in the barn. He stopped suddenly and slid his hands into his back pockets. Tears welled in his eyes and he tasted blood as he bit down hard on his lip.

"Adam . . ." Joe murmured, aching for the words that would lighten his brother's burden.

"I'm sorry, Joe," Adam whispered between clenched teeth. "It just came out . . . I'm sorry."

Joe mirrored his brother, standing beside him in body and mind as he'd done countless times before. "We've all done it, Adam," Joe reassured. "Pa, Hop Sing, me, Candy . . . even Roy, once. Poor man felt so bad. The words simply came out, just like now."

Joe's hand went instinctively to Adam's shoulder and he felt his brother tense.

"It's so hard, Joe," Adam said, "and I wasn't here. I wasn't here for you and for Pa."

Joe's eyes closed. _He's right. He wasn't here, and Pa really needed him. _

"I'm sorry." Adam stepped away, Joe's hand releasing its grip as it slid to his side. "It's not enough, I know, but I am sorry."

The frustration and anger that had fostered in Joe's heart mushroomed. "You're right Adam. It isn't enough! You decided you had to leave the ranch; leave Pa and Hoss and me. You weren't here when Pa had pneumonia. You didn't have to watch him gasp for every breath and plead with him to take just a spoonful of broth. You weren't here to take your turn sitting with him, spending hours trying to cool his fever, watching his chest rise and fall and praying that it didn't stop! You weren't here when the fever had him calling out your name, begging you to take his hand. And where were you when Hop Sing was nearly killed? The buckboard rolled and twisted as it fell over that cliff. Adam, he was trapped under it for hours before Paul Martin just happened to ride by and see the tracks. Seeing him hurt so badly was hard, Adam! Real hard!" Joe paced, his steps coming rapidly. He ran a hand across his sweat-dotted forehead. "Where were you when Pa cut his leg? He nearly lost it, you know. The infection was bad, Adam. Real bad. He was in so much pain and I know he was scared, too. But every day, he managed to ask if there was mail from you, Adam! And when Hoss lost Erin! My God, he loved her so much! She died in his arms, Adam, and for weeks, Hoss wandered around the ranch like some kind of ghost. Me 'n' Pa worried that he might try to hurt himself, he missed her that much. And if you'd've been here, he might have turned to you for help instead of going off on his own for weeks!" Joe's pacing increased as he ran his hand through his dampened hair. "And where the hell were you when I was held by that gang of Mexicans? Adam, they handed Pa something wrapped in a bloody cloth and told him it was my finger! And where were you when I . . . when I needed . . ."

Adam seized Joe's shaking body, clutching him tightly against his chest as he'd done when he returned to the Ponderosa just two days before. "Oh, Little Joe! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" Adam clove to Joe's racking body. He buried his cheek in Joe's bushy hair and tenderly stroked his back as Joe's fingers dug into the flesh on his back. "Shh . . . shh."

"Why, Adam?" Joe cried. "Why couldn't I have been strong like Hoss? Why didn't I go with him? And that last time . . . Why was it Candy instead of me? Adam, don'tcha see?" If I'd have gone with Hoss, maybe I could have done something . . . Maybe I could have saved him!"

"Those are what ifs, Joe, and I can't answer any of those questions. No one can." Adam said, "But I might be able to help you if you can just tell me the rest. I need to know everything." Adam guided Joe's shoulders away and looked into his swollen, tear-filled eyes. "I'm here now, Joe. And I will find a way to get us through this. But you have to . . ."

"It should have been me at the bluff, Adam," Joe cried. "It should have been me!"

Adam walked Joe back to their make-shift chairs, worried for his emotionally drained little brother. "Sit down, Joe. Take a minute, and then tell me what you can."

While Adam tenderly rubbed his brother's back, Joe labored to calm his heaving chest. "You and Hoss were playing checkers . . ."

"Yeah . . . checkers." Joe clenched his eyes and breathed deeply before continuing.

"Hoss," Joe had said, "I wanted to say I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ignored you when you asked me about going to Zach's ranch."

"Joe . . ." Hoss said.

"No Hoss, let me finish," Joe insisted. "All these times, all these years that you've asked me to go to Sidewinder Bluff, well, I just couldn't. I found excuses every time, but the truth is I couldn't go there."

"But Joe, I thought you loved that place!" Hoss said. "You used ta git so excited about goin' up there ev'ry year. The night before ya hardly ever slept. I remember the first couple o' times me 'n' Adam took ya with us, why, ya musta asked ev'ry two minutes if we was there yet. Ya turned inta a little chatterbox, askin' Adam so many questions about the place. Once, ya got so wound up in the saddle thatcha spooked ole Cooch! Poor pony jist couldn't figure what was makin' ya so twitchy!"

"Hoss," Joe whispered, not understanding his brother's confusion, "it wasn't the 'place' that I loved. It was being there with Adam and you." Joe hated admitting any weakness, and owning up to his family was something he'd always dreaded. Yet somehow, finally saying the words seemed right. "I just couldn't do it, Hoss. I couldn't go without him. Guess I wasn't ready to let go. Every year, I kept thinking he'd be back and we'd make sure the ranch was all settled, pack a horse, and head off to the bluff, just like we used to. I was selfish, Hoss. I didn't even stop ta think that you might be hurtin' too, needin' to go to the bluff because you missed him, while I was avoiding it for the same reason. I'm real sorry, Hoss."

"You're right, Joe," Hoss said. "I needed ta go there. It was like Adam was along with me, even though he wasn't. It was real nice, bein' there 'n' all, thinkin' about the times the three of us had. But there was one thing. You wasn't there. 'N' I . . . well, Joe, I missed ya both."

"Hoss . . ."

"Now, you had yer say, so jist let me finish. I need ta say I'm sorry, too. I gotta admit, the first couple o' years when ya wouldn't go along, well, I thought it was 'cause ya didn't wanna spend the time with me. 'N' after that, I only asked ya 'cause Pa made me."

Joe chuckled. "Sounds like Pa. You reckon he knew our reasons for goin' and not goin'?"

"Joe, I know he did," Hoss said. "And I know who else would've figured it out."

Joe had smiled, his eyes twinkling, and Hoss returned the look with a big, gap-toothed grin as together, they said "Adam!"

Once again, Joe paused as his emotions overtook him. He glanced toward Adam and his eyes brimmed.

"Joe, you okay?" Adam asked.

Joe raked his hand through his hair and rubbed the side of his neck. "Yeah Adam, I'm okay. I was just thinkin' how silly Hoss looked, sittin' there grinnin' at me. I'd give anything to see that grin one more time."

Adam and Joe reflected together in silence until Sport nickered, bobbing his head and flipping his tail.

"There's more, isn't there, Joe?" Adam asked.

"Yeah."

_There's more, all right . . . _Hoss and Candy had feasted on a breakfast of sausage, eggs, biscuits, and ham. When Ben and Joe awoke and joined the soon-to-be travelers, Hop Sing appeared from the kitchen with more of the fare and the news that he'd seen to the packing of a plentiful lunch for the Hoss and Candy. Conversation drifted from assurances that the ranch would still be in one piece upon Hoss and Candy's return to talk of the contracts and legalities facing Ben. After one final cup of sugared and creamed coffee, Candy stood, energetic as always, and excused himself to the barn to saddle Chubb and Scout.

"You have everything you need, son?" Ben asked as Hoss hastily wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

"Sure thing, Pa," Hoss replied, eyeing the lone biscuit that remained on the serving plate. "Hop Sing done packed us a banquet ta take along 'n' Candy 'n' me got our saddlebags loaded before breakfast." Hoss reached for the biscuit, buttered it, and popped it into his mouth.

Joe shook his head while Ben watched Hoss's rapid chewing.

"Didja tell 'em?" Hoss asked.

"Not yet, Hoss," Joe answered.

"Tell who what?" Ben asked as his sons shared a secretive moment with glances and smiles that warmed Ben's heart. "Well, is somebody gonna tell me?"

"I made the right move last night, Pa," Joe responded.

"The right move?" Ben asked. "Oh, you mean you won the game of checkers? Even after your brother . . ."

"Pa!" Hoss interrupted, feigning his most innocent look.

"Oh, Bigger Brother, don't try and hide it. I know you cheated last night!"

"Why, Joseph, what ever do you mean?"

Joe and Hoss giggled as Ben watched confused, again. "I wasn't referring to that game, Pa," Joe explained. "The right move I made last night was from the chess game you and I played earlier in the day. You told me that if I worked through my obstacles, one at a time, it would open new pathways and last night, it did just that. When Hoss goes to Sidewinder Bluff this year in October, he won't be going alone. This time, I'll be going with him."

Joe saw a look of smugness creep onto his father's face. _Hoss was right. Pa knew all along._

"Pa never misses a thing, does he Joe?" Adam asked, twirling a piece of hay between his fingers.

"No, Adam, he doesn't," Joe replied, reaching for another clump of the same hay. "But he never gloats about it."

"Nope," Adam murmured. "He's just proud of us, that we've reckoned whatever it was on our own."

"Yeah, on our own, or with a little help from a brother."

Adam grabbed Joe at the back of his neck and rocked him back and forth, smiling down at his little brother with pride. Joe returned the sentiment with a warm smile before pushing Adam's arm away as he'd done so many times in his youth. For several minutes, patience prevailed as Adam and Joe sat silently, Adam well aware of his brother's struggle to finish his account of that day three months ago.

"Hoss and Candy left for Sidewinder Bluff about twenty minutes later," Joe said, burying his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes, and folding his hands together at his chin. "That was the last time I saw him. The last time I saw Hoss . . ." A cold shiver ran through Joe's body, ending at his lips, numbed by the words they'd spoken aloud. The words seemed counterfeit; a make-believe, random thought far from the reality he'd always known. _The last time I saw Hoss . . . _The numbness crawled from his lips to his mind as he sat staring, fixed on nothingness.

Beside him, Adam struggled, searching for the voice that eluded him. He forgot to breathe, and when nature forced air into his lungs, he inhaled Joe's words still floating in the air. _"The last time I saw Hoss"._ Adam's lips tingled, warming with the tears threatening to well. He turned his head away, hoping to hide the pain and loss contorting his face.

Joe turned his back, his breath catching beneath the huge lump that formed in his throat. It wasn't long, though, before he felt Adam's firm hand upon his shoulder, giving Joe the courage and strength to continue.

Joe and Ben had finished breakfast while Hoss and Candy checked their bags and tightened the cinches on their mounts. Their plan was to ride to Zachariah Donnelly's small, profitable horse ranch and make the selections Ben had requested. Afterward, they'd take to the trail and head for Sidewinder Bluff, camping at the crest overlooking the glorious hills surrounding Lake Tahoe. From there, they would descend the mountains and spend a relaxing day or two fishing, with a certain trip into Reno for a cold beer and a game or two of poker. On their return, they'd swing by Zach's to pick up the horses and then make the two day trek back to the Ponderosa.

"See you in about ten days," Candy'd said. Scout tossed his head, excited to be heading out of the corral. Candy reined him in, tipped his hat, and nodded to Joe and Ben. "Do what you can to keep him in line while we're gone.

"I will, Candy," Ben chuckled.

Candy looked back over his shoulder. "Oh, I was talking to Joe!"

Joe felt his father's strong hand clap him on the back as Ben laughed and waved to Candy. But Joe's eyes were fixed on Hoss, sitting tall in the saddle with a bittersweet look in his glistening blue eyes. "Next time," Joe said, "it'll be you and me, Hoss."

"That's right, Little Brother," Hoss had agreed, "'n' we'll both be shore ta pack the mem'ries." Hoss winked at Joe and pulled Chubb's reins to the right. "You take care now! See ya in about ten days!"

"And then," Joe whispered, his tear-filled eyes avoiding Adam's as the barn seemed to close in on them both, "he was gone."


	6. Chapter 6- A Road I Should Have Traveled

**CHAPTER SIX**

**_A ROAD I SHOULD HAVE TRAVELED_**

"Joe . . ."

Joe jumped up from the crate, folded his arms across his chest, and sauntered over to the stalls. Gently, he stroked Cooch's neck. "And the next thing we knew, it was seven days later and Roy and Paul came riding into the yard." Joe gazed through the open barn door and out into the yard. "Pa knew something was wrong. We were sitting on the porch cleaning the rifles." Joe sighed. "Pa said he'd spent 'too many days cooped up in negotiations, stuck inside cramped, stifling offices in Virginia City'. He just needed to be outside. So there we were. We heard the horses coming, but even before they came into sight, Pa set his rifle down, pushed his chair away from the table, and stood up, stiff as a rod, just staring out at the road . . ." Joe, his eyes welling, turned and gaped at Adam. "How do you reckon he knew, Adam?"

Adam folded his hands and rested his arms on his knees. "I don't know, Joe. A father's intuition, I guess."

Once again, Adam waited patiently for Joe to gather his thoughts and feelings. In the passing moments, Adam pictured Hoss, sitting atop Chubb, riding across the yard and onto the road as he'd done day after day on the Ponderosa. His love for his big brother arose in his throat, the lump nearly choking him as he swallowed, forcing that love back to his waiting heart where it belonged.

"Adam," Joe said, avoiding his older brother's eyes. "I don't think I can talk about when . . . when Roy told Pa."

Adam cringed as the vision of his father's face, racked with shock and devastation, appeared before him. "That's okay, Joe," Adam whispered, "Just tell me what happened at Sidewinder Bluff."

Joe sighed, thankful for Adam's consideration. "I've heard the rest so many times . . ." Joe said as he paced in front of Adam. "I've gone over it in my head, praying that we missed something, some detail or some lead." Joe grazed his hands through his hair and his pacing slowed, his face covered with torment. "But it always ends the same way."

"Candy and Hoss made it to Zach's place," Adam said. "That's all I know."

"Yeah, they made it to the canyon . . ."

In the area known as Caballero Canyon, Hoss and Candy had spent two full days riding in the sweltering heat searching for their choice of nineteen exquisite mares and one perfect stallion. Zach Donnelly had offered the use of two of his best hands, but Hoss considered Candy's sullen mood of late and decided that his friend would benefit from two days of hard work. And so at the end of the second day, with the mares corralled, the stallion secured, and Hoss and Candy bathed and clean-shaven, they sat together with Zach, anticipating his best efforts at the evening meal.

The table held bowls and plates heaped with savory dishes and fresh-baked bread. "Zach, you done missed yer callin'!" Hoss said, almost between mouthfuls. "You could book passage ta France er one a' them other fancy countries 'n' git yerself a job as one o' them chefs!" Hoss continued to indulge, concentrating on the chunks of meat on his plate. "What is it I'm tastin' on this here pork?"

Candy chuckled. "You've eaten most of it already, Hoss, and _now_ you wanna know what it is?"

Hoss put on his most indignant face. "It's mighty good, Candy, 'n' that's all that really matters!"

"But, Hoss? What if it's got cheese in it?"

Hoss's fork froze midway between his plate and his waiting mouth. "Heh?"

Candy smiled. "I said, what if it's got cheese in it?"

Zach quickly covered his grin with his napkin.

Hoss glared at the meat hanging from his fork. He screwed up his lips as the sauce dripped from the morsel. "Now, who would go 'n' ruin a tender piece o' pork by puttin' cheese on it?"

"You know those fancy French recipes, Hoss," Candy teased. "Why, they eat things like snails 'n' frog's legs over there! Can't be that cheese is too far behind!"

Hoss looked at his fork with loving, puppy dog eyes, and then slowly lowered it to his plate. "Aw, dadburnit! I don't like cheese!"

Zach and Candy exploded with laughter. "It's all right, Hoss. There ain't no cheese on anything I've made tonight! Just some special spices and some wine!"

"Wine?" Hoss had shouted. "Who'da ever thought! Pass me them potaters, Zach," Hoss had said as he slipped another bite of meat into his mouth. "I s'pose they've got wine on them, too!"

Adam laughed at the thought, his head shaking in wonder. He looked up at Joe, his pacing having slowed as the story unfolded. "And did they?" Adam asked. "The potatoes, I mean. Was there wine on them, too?"

"Candy said ole Zach puts wine in everything!" Joe answered. "Said he thought there might even be some in the flapjacks Zach made for breakfast!"

"Maybe that's why Zach's always in such a congenial mood!" Adam added, grinning as he remembered the old rancher. "Was he really that good of a cook?"

"Candy seems to think so," Joe replied. "And as for Hoss, well, he'll eat . . . he would eat just about anything."

Adam sighed quietly, a faint, tender smile on his face. "Anything . . . except cheese."

"Hff," Joe groaned, nodding his head in subtle agreement. "It's a good thing it was wine and not cheese. Hoss would've raided Zach's kitchen in the middle of the night if it had been!"

"Yeah," Adam agreed, "and he might still have been in the kitchen when it came time for breakfast!"

Joe chuckled, remembering Hoss's frequent night time visits to Hop Sing's kitchen. "Candy said that the next morning, ole Zach actually plunked a bottle of wine at the breakfast table just to rattle Hoss!" Joe's giggles harmonized with Adam's laughter, the symphony swelling and then shrinking in the cool barn air. Joe continued, "They left right after that breakfast, headed straight for Sidewinder Bluff."

Candy and Hoss had ridden hard all morning. The sweltering air pressed down on them; the sun scorched their clothing and burned through to their skin. Candy strained to clear his vision, salty sweat dripping from his forehead and stinging his eyes. As they rode, he untied his neck cloth, shook it to free the traces of dust and fine grains of sand, and wiped at his eyes before mopping his brow.

"And this is what you look forward to each and every year?" Candy complained as yet another droplet of brackish moisture trickled into the corner of his left eye.

"Yes sir!" Hoss replied, seemingly unscathed by the harsh environment. "I will admit, it's a might warm . . ."

"A might warm!" Candy yelled.

Hoss grinned. "As I was sayin' . . . It's a might warmer now in May than it is in October when we used ta come by."

Candy lifted his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "Yeah, I bet! Probably only a hundred degrees in the shade instead of a hundred and ten!"

"Would ya quit yer grumblin' 'n' try ta appreciate the beauty of this place?" Hoss asked.

Candy frowned as he slapped his hat back onto his head. "I'd rather grumble!"

"If grumblin' is whatcha wanna do, then grumble away, my friend. Me? I'm gonna take it all in 'n' enjoy it!"

Candy wagged his head and scrutinized the landscape, its sandy terrain, desolate cacti and occasional, thirsty tree a far cry from anything he would call pleasing to the eye. "You know, Hoss, I spent many a year 'enjoying' the heat and sand storms at Fort Defiance," Candy said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "In fact, when I was younger, my father was stationed at Fort Gibson 'n' he worried so much about me 'enjoying' the jagged rocks 'n' snakes 'n' scorpions that he forbade me to leave the post on my own!"

Hoss shook his head. "Candy, Candy, Candy," he moaned, "you shore are determined ta make this leg of the trip as miserable as ya can!"

"Yep."

"Well, my friend," Hoss added, "it ain't gonna work. I'm gonna ride along on ole Chubb here 'n' have me a good . . . Well, wouldja lookie there!"

"Where?" Candy asked, looking from side to side, his hand sliding instinctively down to his gun.

"Up ahead," Hoss replied, "There's the grove of Joshua trees. Ain't they a sight?"

Candy squinted, staring at the area ahead. "Hoss, if you're lookin' for some shade so's we can cool down 'n' have some lunch, those 'trees' ain't gonna supply what your lookin' for!"

"Aw, Candy, I know that!" Hoss replied. "Say, Candy, do ya know why the leaves on the Joshua tree are turned up?"

"No, Professor Hoss, I do not."

Hoss wrinkled his nose at Candy. "It's because the leaves kin catch moisture right outta the air and then they store the water in their limbs! Ain't that somethin'?"

"Oh, yeah, Hoss, that's somethin'. It'd be an even better somethin' if you 'n' me could do the same thing!" Candy quickly tucked the reins beneath his thigh and held his hands upturned to the blazing sun. "Oh, I feel it! My palms are gettin' damp! No, wait . . . that's sweat, not water!"

Hoss blew a remark from his lips and spurred Chubb to a faster gait. He reached the small grove well before Candy, slid from his saddle and stood, staring up at the natural orchard. After careful thought, he selected a branch from one of the tallest trees, snapped it loose and, as Candy approached, tied the branch to his saddle.

"Uh, Professor Hoss," Candy inquired, "whatcha gonna do with that?"

"You'll just hafta wait 'n' see!" Hoss answered as he mounted and rode past the grove.

"Now, where are ya goin'?" Candy shouted.

Hoss, his eyes roaming the landscape, raised his arm and waved at Candy to follow.

Candy grumbled. "At this rate, teacher be collecting specimens all day!" Candy urged Scout forward, shouting, "And I thought Adam was the professor in the family!"

"He actually said that?" Adam asked, doubting Joe's accuracy as he retold the events of that day.

"That's an exact quote from Candy!" Joe replied. "Seems Brother Hoss remembered just about everything you ever told him and me about the plants 'n' critters up near Sidewinder Bluff!"

"I think I know what he's got planned for the Joshua tree leaves," Adam said, "but I'm not sure what he's looking for now."

"Well, Candy said he just kept riding with his eyes lowered to the ground . . ."

Candy had trailed behind Hoss, guiding Scout to weave and lurch as they followed. Still stumped by Hoss's search, Candy stopped and stared at every spot where Hoss had done the same. "I don't know, Scout," Candy said to his mount – but loudly enough for Hoss to hear. "Maybe he's lookin' for a bottle of wine to go with the lunch we may never have!"

"Aw, keep yer britches on!" Hoss yelled back. "I jist wanna find some . . . Aha!"

"Aha what?"

"Never you mind, Mister 'I lived in the desert'! Never you mind!" Hoss replied as once again, he dismounted. This time, he crouched next to a bush, pulled several red fruits from a cactus covered in deep, crimson cup-shaped flowers.

"Hoss, I can't believe I'm the one sayin' this, but I'm hungry! When are we gonna stop for lunch?" Candy complained.

"Dadburnit, Candy," Hoss yelled, "is lunch all you kin think about?"

A look of shock spread over Candy's face. "Hoss, we'd best git back to Zach's ranch 'n' have somebody go for the doc. You must be sufferin' from heat stroke!"

Hoss opened his saddle bag and slid the fruits inside. "Pshh!" he sighed as he looped the bag shut and climbed, once again, into his saddle. "We're almost there! Now, do ya think ya kin keep up?"

Never one to turn down a challenge, Candy smiled and the two horses galloped away from the Hedgehog Cactus patch. Before long, Candy felt a noticeable change in the oppressive heat. Though still sparse in quantity, thicker and greener vegetation came into sight. The rocks grew in proportion, some towering thirty feet or higher and, in the distance, Candy got his first view of Sidewinder Bluff.

"There she is!" Hoss exclaimed. "Sidewinder Bluff. Ain't she somethin'?"

Candy shrugged, although to himself, he had to admit that the huge expanse of sand-worn rock with its smooth, eroded edges was impressive. He found he was taken by the horizontal streaks of muted color, each one revealing a period in time and the conditions that existed then. As they rode further from the barren canyon, Candy spotted more living creatures than he and Hoss had seen in the past six hours: birds of prey gliding effortlessly as they rode the shafts of wind high above the bluff; lizards scattering at the sound of hoof beats, their tails weaving a trail behind them as they scurried into the shadows; and desert rats, perched on their haunches to get a glimpse of the humans riding into their territory.

Hoss led Candy beneath the bluff and as they approached the southernmost end, he tilted his head back and inhaled the musty, earthy scent of the Truckee River that combined with the faint hint of the Ponderosa pines yet to come. He glanced at Candy, sitting tall in his saddle as he glanced at the sudden beauty and inhaled the rich aromas. Hoss smiled, relieved that his friend welcomed the territory with at least some of the awe he himself had felt the first time he'd accompanied Adam to this magnificent spot. He shifted in his saddle, peering out over the horizon that was dotted with the tips of the gigantic pines. Lake Tahoe, invisible for several more miles, lay waiting at the base of the mountains, and Hoss hoped that Candy was in for yet another breathtaking sight once they reached that point.

"Like I said," Hoss repeated. "Ain't she somethin'?"

Candy continued to peruse the panorama, each sweep from left to right revealing something new. "Gotta admit, Hoss. You're right. She really is something! Only why is it a 'she'?"

"Because . . . well, if you . . . dadburnit, if you don't come up with the most cantankerous questions! She's a she 'n' that's all there is to it!"

Candy grinned and followed Hoss the rest of the way beneath the bluff. The shade fell on them quickly, and riders and horses alike were grateful for the relief. Once they'd agreed upon the ideal spot, Candy helped Hoss with the preparations for their long-awaited lunch. "The fire's goin' strong, Hoss," Candy announced, looking over his shoulder to where Hoss had been working on some mysterious preparations. "You about ready with those beans?"

"Not jist yet," Hoss replied. "These'll need a little more time." Hoss carried three bundles over to where Candy sat crouched by the fire. After laying two of the bundles across the fire, Hoss reached inside the third, pulled out a small, red fruit covered in thorns, and handed it to Candy. "Jist poke a stick inta it 'n' hold it over the fire till the thorns burn away."

"And then?"

"'N' then we'll sit 'em alongside the fire so's they stay warm while the beans 'r' cookin'," Hoss replied.

Candy's eyes widened. He cocked his head and pointed to the bundles on the fire. "And what about those?"

Hoss grinned and licked his lips. "Those 'r' fer dessert! Roasted Joshua tree branches git all sweet 'n' sugary when ya roast 'em."

Candy plopped back onto his backside and threw his arms into the air. "Well, now, that beats everything I've ever helt, felt, or smelt! Professor Hoss is also one of them fancy chefs!"

His blue eyes gleaming, Hoss glared at Candy. "Boy, you'd best watch who you're callin' a chef er when I'm done with you, you'll look like you was in the outhouse when the lightnin' struck!"

Candy fought back the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're lucky I'm starving, or I'd take you up on that! And besides, I'd hate to hafta explain to your pa and Joe how I beatcha 'cause you skipped a meal!"

Adam smiled as he tipped the bench against Sport's stall and leaned back against the boards with his hands clasped behind his neck. "Sounds like Hoss and Candy were great friends."

"Yeah, they were," Joe agreed, only then realizing he'd stopped pacing and propped himself against a support beam.

"I can't believe how much Hoss remembered about the Joshua trees and the Hedgehog cactus!" Adam said. "I never thought he was paying attention!"

"You're wrong there, Older Brother," Joe said. "Whenever you spoke, Hoss paid attention. He didn't want to miss a thing."

Joe's words left a warm, yet uneasy feeling in the pit of Adam's stomach. _He didn't want to miss anything? And I missed the last five years of his life._

"Adam, you okay?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, Joe," Adam answered. "Just remembering."

"Yeah, I know," was Joe's reply. "You want me to keep going?"

Adam nodded, righting his chair and folding his hands once again as he leaned against his thighs.

"They'd just finished cooking their lunch," Joe said.

The sound of laughter and the clanging of metal had filled the bluff as both men chuckled and worked to prepare their meal. The cactus fruit had been tender and slightly tart and the sweet, chewy desert was a surprising treat.

"Let's git this cleaned up," Hoss said. "We got a couple more miles ta go before we camp fer the night. I got a special place in mind and I think you'll like it."

The dishes were wiped clean and packed inside the saddle bags and the fire was doused with the remainder of the coffee. After sharing water from the canteens with Chubb and Scout, Hoss and Candy rode the next three miles in relative silence, each one looking over their shoulder from time to time to catch a glimpse of the sun as its rays painted the layers of the bluff splendid shades of orange and red. They noted the heat rising from the sandy soil and rising in nearly-invisible waves of motion that disappeared into the shadows. And ahead, their anticipation grew as wild grasses dotted the trail, their tops singed by the sun and their stalks bathed in a rich shade of green. The scent of sweet pine made Hoss smile as an early afternoon breeze gathered strength and billowed out from between the trees.

"I gotta say, Hoss," Candy whispered, "you were right about the transformation up here. One minute, we're in the desert, then we're at a sandy bluff, and now, it's a combination of them both."

"And jist you wait till we git to the river," Hoss promised. "You'll see fish jumping up outta the water 'n' trees as far as ya kin see. Why, I remember the first time me 'n' Adam brought Little Joe along . . . When he saw the water rushin' by he stood up in his stirrups 'n' yelled, "That ain't the Truckee, Adam! It's nowhere near to bein' this pretty!"

The silence that rode along with Hoss and Candy for the remaining two miles disappeared abruptly as they turned into the now lush, green forest. "Whoa!" Candy sighed as the trees parted just enough to reveal the Truckee River, its water bubbling and rushing, cutting its path through the soaring pines and surging downward toward the azure-blue lake below.

"Didn't I tell ya?" Hoss said, the awe in his voice carrying to Candy's.

"You sure did, Hoss. You sure did."


	7. Chapter 7-Last Moments, Lasting Memories

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**_LAST MOMENTS, LASTING MEMORIES_**

Hoss and Candy rode side-by-side across the gradually thickening vegetation. The relentless sun still bore down on them, and the expectation of riding in the shade of the pines urged them forward. Hoss pulled ahead of Candy as the trail narrowed, his eyes opened wide as he searched for new memories and reflected on the old. Candy followed close behind, anxious for a closer look at this expanse of the river. The ground was littered with rocks of all shapes and sizes, the trail obvious, but overgrown.

Scout managed to steady himself as his left front hoof came crashing down atop a large, loose stone. "Easy, boy," Candy murmured as he continued behind Chubb. A small group of rocks lay in the middle of the path and Candy watched as Hoss pulled Chubb to the left, avoiding the pile altogether. Candy attempted to follow, but Scout's footing failed to clear the obstacle. His horse faltered, and Candy slid himself to the far right of his saddle until the frightened horse regained his balance and moved on. For Candy, the next few moments flashed in and out of reality, first in slow motion, and then so quickly that he dared not blink.

The piercing cry startled Scout and sent a chill through Candy's very core. Chubb screamed, rearing over and over, as Hoss struggled to stay on his frightened horse. "Whoa, boy!" Hoss yelled. "Easy, now!"

Scout side-stepped, trying to avoid Chubb's twisting mass, as Candy, too, fought to rein in his mount. "Easy, Scout, easy!" Candy cried.

Chubb spun around and screamed again, his head thrashing, as Hoss clung tightly to the horn of his slipping saddle.

"Hoss!" Candy shouted. "Jump before he falls on you!" Candy pulled Scout in closer, hoping Scout's nearness might help as he reached desperately for Chubb's noseband. "Whoa, boy!" he yelled. Chubb's powerful body bucked and twisted, and Candy held his breath as he watched Hoss plummet toward the rock-littered mountainside. "Oh, God! Hoss!"

Chubb managed, yet again, to right himself before galloping off into the trees. Candy flew from his saddle, rushed to Hoss, and dropped to his knees next to his bleeding friend. It was only then that Candy discovered the reason for Chubb's panic – Hoss's arms lying limp alongside a large hoof print in what appeared to have been a burrow, now crawling with a litter of sidewinder snakes, guarded to the death by their thirty-inch mother. Candy grabbed Hoss's feet, struggling to drag him clear of the burrow. But as Hoss's arm slid across the loose dirt, several of the snakes rattled. Candy swore, switching directions as his adrenaline flowed freely, coursing through his veins. He pulled and tugged his unconscious friend, praying to avoid the poised snakes. But the reptiles held no hesitation and Candy watched helplessly as three sets of fangs dove into the flesh on Hoss's forearm. As he hauled Hoss from the burrow, Candy had the presence of mind to shoo Scout away from the scene. A tall rock formation, shaded on the edge of the forest seemed the best place to tend to Hoss's injuries, and Candy propped him against the side before destroying the snakes as they searched desperately for their demolished burrow.

"Hoss!" Candy whispered, his breath heaving against his lungs. "Hoss, can you hear me?" Candy untied his neck cloth and ripped it from his neck as he rushed to Scout to retrieve his canteen. "Easy, boy." He tethered Scout to a low-hanging branch, afraid that the horse's usually calm demeanor had been tested enough, and since Chubb had disappeared into the forest, Candy was taking no chances with their only remaining mount. Unscrewing the cap from his canteen as he returned to Hoss, Candy called to Chubb, hoping the horse would heed his call. "Chubb! C'mere, boy! Chubby!"

Crouched again next to Hoss, Candy dabbed at the wound on the side of Hoss's head. "Hoss, wake up!" Candy ordered. "You must have hit one of those damned stones when you landed. C'mon, Hoss! Open your eyes!" Satisfied that the bleeding was slowing, Candy turned his attention to the snake bites on Hoss's forearm. "Looks like three of 'em gotcha. Good thing is," he said, breathing heavily as he opened his penknife, "from the size of the bite marks, looks like only one of them was an adult." Candy, his hands shaking, snatched Hoss's gun from his holster, opened the cylinder, and removed one bullet. Carefully, he pried the casing apart, sweat dripping into his eyes as he continued trying to revive Hoss. "Can you hear me? Hoss! I need ya to open your eyes, my friend." Finally, the top of the sheath sprung loose, and Candy stood and rummaged through the brush in search of a long, sturdy stick. The first one he found was thick and straight, but not long enough. "Come on, come on!" The third he found was both strong and lengthy, and he quickly pounded it into the ground with his canteen. He tied one end of his neck cloth to the stake, the other he wrapped tightly around Hoss's wrist. Satisfied that his unconscious patient wouldn't be moving his arm, Candy cautiously poured the powder from the bullet across the swelling, red bites on Hoss's arm. "I guess it's a good thing you won't be awa . . ."

"Mm," Hoss moaned, grabbing his side with his free arm while tugging against the stake with the other. "Ahh!" he cried, clutching his ribs and glaring at his bound arm. "Chubb?" he whispered.

"Easy, Hoss," Candy said, pressing his wide shoulders back against the rocks. "You must have broken a few ribs."

"Chubb?" Hoss asked again.

"He's taking a little walk," Candy replied.

"You mean he ran off," Hoss said, coughing and wincing as he tried again to raise his head and look at his arm. "What happened?"

"I'll tell ya, but only if you lie back and don't try ta move!"

Hoss nodded, the strength he'd summoned upon waking deserting him completely.

"Best I can tell," Candy said, "ole Chubb found himself a burrow of sidewinders and tossed you up against a rock or two."

"He git bit?" Hoss asked, his breathing shallow and labored.

"Not that I could tell. He didn't seem ta have any trouble runnin' off into the woods."

"Ahh!" Hoss cried, his head pounding in rhythm with the throbbing that was beginning in his arm. "Tell me the rest."

"All right," Candy agreed. "After you bashed your head against the rocks, your arm must have grazed the burrow. You got bitten, my friend. Three times."

Again, Hoss tried and failed to raise his head. "How bad?"

"Bad enough," Candy replied. I was just about to . . ."

"Burn it out," Hoss said, nodding his agreement.

"Hoss, I wish you'd stayed unconscious just a few minutes longer!"

"Jist do it!" Hoss said, his stare into Candy's light blue eyes signaling his permission.

Candy nodded. He fumbled nervously with his saddlebag, digging inside for the box of matches. His heartbeat thumped against his chest, dreading what he knew had to be done. He knelt once again, grabbed a small branch, and broke it in half.

"Hoss . . ." Candy whispered.

"I know, Candy," Hoss said, accepting the inevitable. "Jist get it over with."

Candy held the stick in front of Hoss's eyes, and when Hoss opened his parched lips, he placed it between Hoss's teeth. Candy inhaled, blew the air out in a steady, calming stream, and struck a match against his boot heel. His face contorted and his lips pursed and stretched as he lowered the flame to Hoss's forearm. _I'm sorry, Hoss!_

The flame wiggled, hovering just above the surface of Hoss's skin. Candy blew lightly on the dancing shape and the gunpowder ignited. Hoss screamed, the muted cry echoing in the opening where he lay. Candy pressed with both hands against Hoss's bicep, forcing it against the ground as Hoss fought against the pain raging in his arm. His straining and rapid heartbeat opened Hoss's head wound, and a thin trail of blood trickled down his forehead and onto his cheek as he moaned and ground his teeth deeper and deeper into the stick.

"It's almost out, Hoss!" Candy yelled. "Hang on!"

What seemed like endless minutes in reality was merely a few seconds. The stench of burned flesh and gunpowder rose from Hoss's arm, and twice, Candy turned his head and gagged. He untied Hoss's wrist, grabbed his canteen, saturated his neck cloth, and, as gently as possible, wrapped Hoss's forearm.

The stick slipped from Hoss's teeth, falling down his chin and onto his heaving chest. "You all right?" Hoss asked, his voice weak and husky.

"Am I all right?" Candy repeated. "Yeah, my friend," he replied as he clasped Hoss's shoulder, "I'm all right. Now, how are we gonna get you to a doc? If I know that horse of yours, he's liable to head straight back to the Ponderosa."

Hoss, his eyes heavy and his face growing pale, nodded his agreement.

Candy felt the bile rise into his throat. _I've gotta get him some help. Something just doesn't feel right. There's more than a few broken ribs and those snakebites. Maybe a concussion? Or internal injuries? Even if I can get him up on Scout, if I walk, it'll take us more than a day to get back to Zach's ranch. _"So," Candy announced, "I guess Scout's gonna have to carry us both back to Zach's."

"Candy, I . . . don't think . . . that's . . ."

"Hoss! Hoss!" Candy had cried, shaking him by his shoulders. "Hoss! . . . DAMN IT!"

"He passed out," Adam said, his mind assailed with images of Hoss's unconscious, bleeding form, his arm swollen, and his flesh singed. Adam dropped his head into his hands, his head shaking in disbelief.

"Yeah," Joe said, similar pictures flashing before his tear-filled eyes. "And there was no way Candy could get Hoss up onto Scout, let alone make it all the way back to Zach's.

"What about a travois?" Adam asked, his flat tone telling of his already knowing the answer.

"Candy thought of that," Joe replied, "In fact, since he didn't have much rope, he went so far as to ride down the river a bit searching for vines."

Adam sighed, his fingertips rubbing the back of his neck. "There aren't any vines along the Truckee in spring."

"Yeah," Joe whispered. "Candy found that out and then kicked himself for wasting precious time."

"He didn't know," Adam added.

"But he blames himself . . . for that and more."


	8. Chapter 8 - Decisions and Outcomes

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**_DECISIONS AND OUTCOMES_**

"What happened next, Joe?" Adam asked, dreading the details he anticipated hearing.

Joe wandered back to the bench as he picked up the story once again. "Candy had a rough decision to make, Adam. I don't know what I would have done, or anyone else, for that matter."

Dismounting quickly, Candy had hurried to Hoss, lifting his wrist to check his pulse. "Hoss? Can ya hear me? I couldn't find any vines! Nothing I could use to tie up the travois! Nothing that wouldn't take hours and hours of weaving and then who knows if it would have held together all the way back to Zach's? Hoss? Are you listening?" Candy swiped the top of his thumb across his upper lip. _I've got to get help! And the only way I can do that is . . ._

Hoss let out a low, anguished grumble.

"Hoss?" Candy cried, fumbling for the canteen he had refilled at the river. "Hoss, wake up!" Candy placed the canteen next to Hoss, grabbed his knife, and poked it through the sleeve of his red shirt. Tossing the knife aside, he yanked and ripped the lower section of his sleeve away from the rest. "Hoss, you still with me?" As Candy poured water onto the cloth, his eyes stared piercingly at Hoss's face, willing his friend's eyes to open. "C'mon, Hoss." Candy squeezed the moisture from the cloth over Hoss's cracked lips, hoping the relief might rouse his semi-conscious friend. "Swallow, Hoss. C'mon! Swallow!" Another low moan brought a grin to Candy's worried face. "That's it, Hoss. Now open your eyes!" Candy doused the cloth again, dripping more of the cool water against Hoss's lips. Candy's grin broadened as Hoss parted his lips, accepting the droplets as Candy squeezed the cloth. "Hoss?"

"My arm," Hoss muttered, his eyes still clamped shut. "On fire . . ."

"That's right, Hoss," Candy replied. "I burned the bites. But it's over now."

"No," Hoss insisted, his face distorted, his muscles contracting in anguish. "Burning now!" he said, his voice gathering strength as the water trickled down his throat. He twisted his torso and cried out in pain.

"Hoss, don't try to move!" Candy begged, but his pleas were in vain. "Hoss? Damn!" Candy hung his head and swiped at his nose. "I've got to get you to a doc, and the only way is to get some help." His frustration was quickly overtaken by anger, and that anger propelled him into action. "Hoss, I'll be right back." Candy grabbed his canteen, climbed onto Scout, and headed, once again, to the river. After filling his canteen, he quickly ripped the other sleeve from his shirt and saturated it in the rushing water. Once he was back at Hoss's side, Candy tried to rouse his injured friend. "Hoss? Wake up, Hoss!" When his attempts failed, Candy gently peeled away the cloth covering Hoss's burned forearm. _Oh, my God!_ Hoss's arm visibly swelled the moment the pressure from the cloth was released. Quickly, Candy wrapped the arm with the clean, wet cloth. Then, he lifted Hoss's head, padded the rock with one of the thick, woolen blankets from his own bedroll, and gently lowered Hoss to the billowy head-rest. _It's warm now . . . but I won't be back with help until dusk. _Candy decided to use his other, lighter blanket to cover Hoss's legs and chest. The canteen he placed next to the hand on Hoss's uninjured arm, and after several rapid decisions, Candy set a number of pieces of jerky and his three remaining biscuits next to the canteen. "Hoss? Can you hear me? I was hoping you'd wake up long enough for me ta tell you where I'm going and that I'll be back, quick as lightening! Hoss?" Candy hesitated, watching Hoss's chest rise and fall. He whispered Hoss's name, pleading to see those bright blue eyes before leaving his beloved friend. Finally, Candy laid his hand against Hoss's burly chest. "I'll be back, Hoss," he promised. "And I'll bring help. And you'll be lying right here waiting, right?" Candy wiped his nose as he reluctantly removed his hand from Hoss's chest. He backed away, his eyes never leaving Hoss's prone form. Scout stretched his neck, nuzzling Candy's back. "I know boy, I don't want to leave him either." Candy tightened the cinch of his saddle, knowing the ride would be hard and swift. He mounted, turned to face his friend, and said a final goodbye. "I'll be back, Hoss! I'll be back!"

Joe suddenly bolted upright, startling Adam back to the present.

"Joe? You okay?" Adam asked.

Joe was on his feet, his lips primed to form the same words Adam had been thinking: Don't leave him, Candy.

"Joe?" Adam stood and rested his hand against Joe's back. "I would have done the same thing, Joe. And I believe you would have, too. Candy had no choice. He had to go for help."

Joe's chin fell heavily against his chest. "I know, Adam. I've thought about it night after night, day after day, and there was no other way! But . . ."

"I know, Joe," Adam said, squeezing Joe's shoulder. "It doesn't make it any easier. Nothing will."

Joe nodded and pulled away from his brother's grip. He raised his head, his eyes looking upward as he collected the strength to continue. "Candy nearly rode Scout to death, you know," he said as he stood in front of Scout's empty stall. "He made it back to Zach's place in just over three hours."

"Three hours?" Adam gasped. "That's a four hour trip!"

"Yeah, I know. And when he got there, you'll never guess who just happened to be at the ranch."

"ZACH! ZACH, WHERE ARE YOU?" Candy screamed as he leaped from his saddle before Scout, lathered and panting, could even slow to a trot. Bursting through the front door, Candy called out once again. "ZACH! HOSS IS HURT! ZACH, WHERE ARE YOU?"

Zach came barreling into the room from the kitchen of the modest ranch house. He was followed close behind by a stranger dressed in a well-tailored suit. "Candy? What is it?" Zach asked, noticing Candy's torn shirt and the fear in his desperate eyes.

Candy pulled off his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his bare arm. "It's Hoss," Candy said, gasping for each time-wasting breath as he spoke in broken sentences. "He's hurt. Banged his head against a rock when his horse threw him. He landed in a sidewinder burrow, got bit, three times, I think." Candy doubled over, grabbing hold of his knees as he tried to force air into his lungs. "Got some broken ribs, too, and maybe other injuries. He's . . . he was unconscious when I left him. Gotta get a doctor!"

Zach marched to the front door and stepped out onto the porch. "JEB! SADDLE FIVE HORSES! FILL SIX CANTEENS AND FIND THOMAS! SETH! GET THAT OLD STRETCHER FROM THE BARN. MAKE SURE IT'S READY TA BE USED ON A BIG MAN, AND THEN LOAD IT ONTO MY HORSE! PETE, SEE TO MR. CANADAY'S HORSE!"

Candy listened, his breathing slowing just enough that he could speak without pauses. "We need a doc, Zach! Send someone for a . . ."

"I'm a doctor," the stranger announced. "Charles Whitman."

"Thank God," Candy said, shaking his head. "That'll save us precious time!"

Zach returned, and seeing that Candy and Charles had met, he grabbed his hat and pulled on his gun belt. "Charles, you mind takin' a ride ta Sidewinder Bluff?"

"I'll be right beside ya, Zach," Doctor Whitman replied. "Mind if I help myself to some supplies? From what Mr. Canaday said, I will be needin' a few things."

"Help yourself, Charles," Zach said. "You know where to find things."

Costly minutes went by as Candy watched Zach, the doctor, and several ranch hands scurrying to ready the horses and supplies. He walked to the barn where he found Pete working diligently to soothe Scout after his valiant effort in getting Candy back to the ranch. "Thank you, Pete," Candy said. "He got me here in record time!"

"I sure do hope that Mr. Cartwright's alright," Pete said as he dumped a bucket of oats into the feed trough.

"Yeah, me too," Candy said, quickly stroking Scout's neck. "Sorry I had ta push ya so hard, boy. I'll be back soon."

Candy joined the others in the yard just outside of the barn. The doctor and three hands, each with full canteens and supplies packed into saddlebags, sat ready to ride. After checking that the travois strapped to his horse's side was secure, Zach climbed onto his mare and shouted instructions to the rest of the hands gathered in the yard. "Make up the spare rooms and be sure at least three of you are here at all times. Not sure when we'll get back and we may need some help when we do."

One of the hands stepped forward. "You want one of us to ride into town and send word to Mr. Cartwright?"

"NO!" Candy yelled as he slid his foot into the stirrup, immediately regretting his sharp tone. "Sorry. I'll send word when we get Hoss back to the ranch. No need to worry his father and his brother until we know . . . until we get him back here."

The group sped down the road and out of sight of the ranch house. Having made the same trek many times, Zach rode out in front, convinced that he knew exactly where Candy had left Hoss. Candy rode astride the doctor, yelling into the wind as he explained more about Hoss's injuries and prayed that the doctor would say he'd done all he could. ". . . and I wrapped the burns with a wet cloth, but the whole area was swelling something fierce!"

"The swelling is to be expected, Candy," Dr. Whitman shouted, "and everything else you did was just fine."

"You sure, doc?" Candy asked.

"Wouldn't have done anything different if I had been there myself," Doctor Whitman reassured.

Riding in silence for the next several miles, Candy found himself wording the telegram he knew he'd have to send upon their return to Zach's ranch. _Hoss is fine. Minor accident along the trail. Will be returning to Ponderosa sooner than expected. Repeat, Hoss is fine. That should do. Details will only make Mr. Cartwright worry more, and Joe, well, Joe's imagination will take off no matter what I write, so without details to work from, Mr. Cartwright should be able to keep him calm. _

Candy urged his mount forward as, three hours and forty-two minutes later, they rode toward the far edge of Sidewinder Bluff. He took the lead, racing past Zach and the others as he led them toward the spot where he'd left Hoss. "HOSS!" Candy bellowed. "WE'RE HERE, HOSS!" Candy flew from his mount, running into the wooded area just beyond the Truckee River. "HOSS!" he shouted, hoping to hear the familiar sound of his friend's voice. He sped past the snake burrow, kicking dirt and sand over the two he'd managed to kill earlier that day. As he came closer to the large rock, he slowed, his heart suddenly weighed down in his chest. "HOSS?" he called again, looking back and forth, his eyes searching for the big man.

Zach and the others hurried up to Candy. "You sure this is where you left him?" Zach asked, his eyes, too, scanning the landscape.

"Yes, I'm sure!" Candy snapped. "Look!" Candy walked closer, lifting the canteen and pointing to the blanket lying in a jumble on the ground. "He was right here!" Candy bent down and picked up the blanket. The jerky and biscuits he'd left toppled from the folds and onto the ground. "See? Everything I left with him is still here! He must be around . . . HOSS! HOSS, IT'S CANDY! WHERE ARE YOU?"


	9. Chapter 9 - I Promised!

**CHAPTER NINE**

**_I PROMISED!_**

Zach nodded at his men and they immediately fanned out and began to search. "Doc, you stay with Candy while we . . ."

"NO!" Candy shouted. "We'll ALL look for him!"

Dusk was upon the bluff, and the air was cooling rapidly. The insects and wildlife, calming as they began settling down for the night, quieted their songs and conversations. Hoss's name echoed through the branches of the tall pines as six human voices called out to him over and over again.

"I don't understand!" Candy cried. "Where would he have gone? If he came to, he would have seen the canteen and the food and the blankets. He would have known I went for help! Why would he wander off?"

"Maybe you had better sit down for a bit, Mr. Canaday." Doctor Whitman reached for Candy's shoulder, but it was jerked away in frustration and fear.

"I'm not going to sit down and before you say it, I'm not going to calm down either!" Candy raged. "What I AM gonna do is find my friend!"

"Mr. Donnelly! Mr. Donnelly!" one of the hands shouted as he ran up the bank from the Truckee. Candy rushed ahead, shivering when he saw what the man was carrying. "I found this along the river's edge," the hand said. "It was snagged on an over-hanging branch. Most of it was in the water. And there's some marks in the dirt and mud . . . I'm real sorry, Mr. Canaday, but it looks like your friend went into the river."

Adam jumped up from the bench and spun away, wishing he could disappear into cracks of the barn wall. He folded his arms across his chest, forcing the contents of his stomach back down his throat. "And then?"

Joe was feeling the same as he placed the palm of his left hand along the top of Cooch's stall and hung his head in the thickness of the anguished silence.

"They searched for days, Adam," Joe said.

"Six men?" Adam barked. "That's hardly a 'search', Joe."

"Not six, Adam," Joe replied. "Thirty."

"Thirty?" Adam repeated, his face ashen. "Tell me, Joe."

"Candy wrote out a wire and Zach sent it with Pete down to Reno. He found the sheriff and the two of them rounded up twenty-three men. Before they headed back upriver, the sheriff sent Candy's wire to Roy Coffee."

"What did it say?" Adam asked.

"Roy's still got it, if you want to know exactly, but what I remember is, 'Hoss hurt and missing. Need help with search. Don't tell family until we have news.'"

Adam rubbed his neck and tugged on his right earlobe.

"What are you thinking, Adam?" Joe asked.

Adam sighed. "I'm thinking that's what I would have written."

"Yeah, me too," Joe agreed. "It was enough to get Roy and Clem both mounted and heading to Sidewinder Bluff. They rode straight through; brought along fresh horses and made it there in about twenty-six hours. Roy says that when they arrived, Candy looked like he hadn't eaten or slept in weeks. Said he nearly broke down tellin' what happened. The sheriff from Reno told Roy they'd done all they could; said he wanted to end it. But Roy and Clem refused. Clem told me that Roy made one hell of a speech to the searchers, asking them to stay on a while longer. And they did, all of them. They searched the bluff, the river, the woods . . . They even sent two men back into Reno to ask around and see if anyone there had seen Hoss. The doc had to get back to Caballero Canyon, and he asked around there, too. He sent a man back to the bluff with the message that no one in the canyon had seen Hoss."

Adam nodded, dropped his chin against his folded hands, and stared into the sudden, deafening silence.

"After four days," Joe said, his whispered voice quivering with every other word, "they decided it was . . . they decided to call off the search." Joe watched Adam closely, expecting some reaction, but Adam simply stared, his face almost void of emotion. But Joe knew better. He saw Adam's jaw clenching and releasing, and it wrenched Joe's heart. "Candy refused to leave, Adam. He offered to pay any man who would stay and continue to search."

"I'll pay ten dollars a day to any man who keeps up the search!" Candy had announced.

The search posse had gathered midway along the stretch of the Truckee River that ran from the bluff, down the mountain, and to the lake. Though the sheriff from Reno had been nothing but sympathetic and diligent in his efforts, he'd decided that four days of searching for a missing, injured, snake-bitten stranger was sufficient. Candy disagreed.

"Mr. Canaday," the sheriff had said, "while I understand your reluctance in my decision, and although you and anyone who so chooses are free to stay around these parts and continue to search, I'd like to point out a few things that may influence your decision."

Candy, hands on his hips and fierce determination in his eyes, raised his shoulders tall and squared his jaw.

"First, Mr. Cartwright sustained a head injury and suffered what you believed to have been broken ribs. He'd been stricken by three snakes and had lost consciousness more than once."

"That's no reason . . ."

"Please, Mr. Canaday," the sheriff said sternly, "let me finish."

"Second," the sheriff continued, "the food and water you'd left with Mr. Cartwright was still where you'd left him. Any man with Mr. Cartwright's experience would have taken that canteen and food with him."

"But . . ."

Roy grabbed Candy's arm, steadying his protest. "Please, Candy. Let him finish."

Candy glared at Roy in disbelief.

"Now, we all know that a head injury can lead to a man doing things he wouldn't ordinarily do, and if you add the snake bites and the poison in his body, well, it's likely that Mr. Cartwright may have been out of his head. He may have missed the canteen and, in his search for water . . . Well, there's evidence that Mr. Cartwright made his way to the bank of the river. That blanket that Pete found was right alongside of some mud tracks that looked like something or someone was scrambling to get back up on the bank."

"Sheriff, those are all what ifs and maybe thats!" Candy insisted, waving his hands in frustration. "Just because it _could_ have happened that way doesn't mean it did! Hoss could be lying around here, someplace we missed! He could be trying to call out to us, but . . . He could be . . . I promised him I'd be back!"

Roy stepped away, turning from the others, his eyes welling, his lips quivering. Clem stared at the ground, his mouth open, his warm breath escaping in puffs of sighs.

"Mr. Canaday," the sheriff, clearly moved by Candy's anguish, said, "as I said before, you and anyone who chooses are welcome to stay. Anyone who's leaving can ride along with me."

Candy widened his stance, spreading his feet further apart to steady his weakening legs. He huffed and angrily snatched his hat from his head, slapping it against his thigh. He gathered what he could of his composure and spun around to face the rest of the group. His tortured eyes darted from one to another, and when they focused on Roy and Clem, the torture softened, begging his friends to remain.

"Clem 'n' I ain't goin' anywhere, Candy," Roy said softly.

"I'll stay, too," Zach yelled, his statement quickly echoed by seven others.

Candy memorized their faces, one by one, hoping that soon he would introduce them all to the man they were there to rescue. Besides himself, ten men stayed, resuming the search even before the others had mounted and started back down the mountain.

They covered as much new ground as possible and revisited areas that had been searched before. Spread out as they were, they remained connected by the haunting sound of the name 'Hoss' as it echoed through the pines, bouncing from trunk to branch and leaf to pinecone. They trudged through the lush, green underbrush that thrived in the shade of the pines. They climbed atop crests and descended into small valleys. And at dusk on the sixth day, when no tracks had been found, no signs of large, booted feet had been seen, and no calls for help or moans of pain had been heard, they gathered for their late supper. Weariness shone on their faces and defeat weighed their strides. Six days' worth of stubble accented their drawn, exhausted faces. Clem and Roy were first to arrive at the designated spot, and after setting the fire and starting the coffee to boil, Clem scanned the area for any sign of Candy.

"Roy," Clem whispered, "ya gotta do somethin'."

Roy snapped his eyes toward Clem.

"Don't look at me that way," Clem begged. "Hoss is . . . was my friend! I don't want to admit it any more than you do, but we ain't gonna find him, Roy!" Clem cringed as Roy's eyes continued their enraged glare. "Candy's about ta drop, Roy. And I heard a few of the men saying they can't afford to stay up here any longer."

"Candy said they'd be paid, and he won't go back on that!" Roy whispered in a muted rage.

"It ain't that, Roy," Clem insisted. "They all said they ain't gonna take any money. They don't feel it'd be right. But some of them have got families to feed and jobs that are waitin' for them. And besides," Clem continued, his voice wavering, his eyes downcast, "the whole thing boils down to the fact that, if we haven't found him yet, we aren't gonna find him."

Pain flickered in Roy's eyes. He pressed his lips together tightly, looked away and whispered, "But, it's Hoss."

Clem dropped his head, remembering the day long ago when Hoss had been shot in the back. Roy's words that day rang in Clem's head: Who would shoot Hoss Cartwright? That boy is like a son to me.

Clem and Roy sat next to each other in reflective silence, Roy staring into the early evening mist to the north, Clem gazing toward the pines to the south. Neither heard the approach of the man, and neither were anxious for the conversation they knew they must have.

Candy walked up to the fire, his weary muscles screaming for rest. He looked down on Clem and Roy, and their silence cried out in the forest. The tension in the cooling evening air was thick with emotion, and Candy's heart spoke to him from deep within his chest. _They think he's . . . They want to go home._ Candy shook his head violently as he backed away from the campfire, nearly running into one of the others as they converged on the campsite. "No," he said. "NO!" he yelled. "You can leave," he spun around, "All of you! You can all leave! But I'm staying! I'll find him, all by myself!"

"Candy," Zach said quietly, walking closer to the younger man, his arm outstretched.

"DON'T!" Candy shouted, shoving Zach's hand away. "You can all go!" Candy reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He tossed them into the ground. "There's the money I promised! If it's not enough, there's more in my saddlebags!"

Roy stood, and Clem followed. "Candy," Roy said.

"I thought you were his friends!" Candy cried. "I thought . . ." Candy's eyes clouded in shapes of anger and sorrow. "Roy? Clem?"

Clem tilted his head in silent, heart-felt apology. Roy licked his lips and forced his throat to swallow. "I'm sorry, boy."

Candy's brow furrowed and his mouth gaped, adequate words failing his thoughts. He looked down at the pile of coins, scattered in the dirt and brush. _Hoss . . ._

Supper that night was eaten in silence. Three plates remained unused as Roy, Clem and Candy separated from the group, and from one another.

Clem spent the evening and most of the night sitting atop his bedroll, knees drawn upward, hands clasped around his shins. His mind drifted from memory to memory and thoughts of Hoss's laughter and genuine kindness prevailed in each and every one. He allowed his tears to trickle down his face from time to time, not caring who noticed, and not sure when they would cease.

Roy made his way to a more private place, away from the camp. He leaned his left hip against a large boulder, held the brim of his hat in his hands, and slowly turned it over and over in his fingertips. But for one, his prayers were numerous and lengthy. That one, his first, was that Hoss had not suffered. Nothing more, for the thought of any suffering, Roy knew, would shatter his heart forever. His next prayer was for his family: Ben, Joe, and Adam. He prayed that they would be able, in short time, to accept their unimaginable loss, and that their memories might eventually comfort them. His final prayer - the longest - was for Candy, the young man who'd promised to return to Hoss, and who, no doubt, would spend the rest of his days filled with regret. With his prayers said, Roy moved on to what would be one of the most difficult things he'd ever have to do: breaking the news of Hoss's death to his best friend, Ben Cartwright.

Candy spent the night leaning against a thick-trunked Ponderosa pine. A part of him knew that Roy and the others were right, but that part was buried in a cavern so deep he knew that if he opened a passageway, there would be no light and no air, and that the moment he stepped through, the passageway would seal him inside the cavern forever. He listened to the voices in his head reciting the last bits of conversation he'd had with Hoss, the familiar voice launching wave after wave of longing, sadness, and guilt. He pictured the yard in front of the house he'd come to call home, and in that yard stood two men: his family, looking beyond him, waiting anxiously for their son and brother to ride into the clearing. _How am I going to tell them? What words can I possibly say? And once those words are spoken, how will I help them? How will I help myself?_

As the sun lifted the shadows of darkness and the sweet songs of the birds welcomed the dawn, Clem and Zach crouched at the campfire with a skillet and coffee pot in their hands. The men from Reno had left before daybreak, wanting to avoid the unpleasantness of offering up condolences and goodbyes. Pete and Roy moved about the small campsite, packing their gear and loading it onto their horses. No one spoke, except for an occasional, necessary comment. Remorse hung heavily in the air, and everyone wondered if Candy, still off on his own, would be leaving with them or staying to continue the futile search.

"Should we go look for him?" Clem asked as they took turns filling their plates with scrambled eggs and crisp, salty bacon.

Before Roy could answer, the crackling of dry twigs snapping drew their attention. Candy ambled into sight, his hair rumpled, his eyes swollen and red. He made his way up the slope to the campsite, his head hanging low. With neither a glance nor a word, he stood next to Clem, towering over the squatting man. Clem poured a cup of coffee and held it up to Candy who accepted it with no acknowledgement whatsoever. Candy held the cup to his lips, but his roiling stomach made it impossible to sip the strong brew. He stared into the swirling, dark brown liquid as it settled in his cup, and when Roy offered a plate of food, Candy turned silently and walked across the way, standing still, his body pressed against Scout.

Twenty minutes later, as Roy doused the campfire one last time, Clem, Zach, and Pete climbed into their saddles. Roy turned, capturing one final look into the wilderness. His nose prickled as his unblinking eyes brimmed with tears. He scrunched his nose and sniffed, shook his head ever so slightly, his mouth tugged into a pout of grief. He sniffed once again, swiped his hand across his nose, and made his way to his waiting horse. He mounted and nodded at Clem, Zach, and Pete. They started toward the trail, and as they passed Candy and Scout, Roy pulled up on his reins.

"Candy?" Roy said gently.

Candy lifted his head and stared at the saddle in front of him. Without a word, he slid his foot into the stirrup, swung his leg across Scout's broad backside, and sat hunched in his saddle. Silently, he stepped in behind Roy and the others, and with his eyes clamped shut and his shattered heart aching, Candy rode away from Sidewinder Bluff and the friend he loved like a brother.


	10. Chapter 10 - Honorable Search

**CHAPTER TEN**

**_HONORABLE SEARCH_**

Adam's eyes grew heavy and his breath escaped his chest in one long, languid stream. His eyes closed and at first, he welcomed the abyss and its infinite void of flashes of memory. He inhaled deeply and without warning, the lonely, hollow tunnel displayed images that raised his pulse and bore down on his chest.

"They rode to Zach's," Joe explained, "and from there, Candy, Roy, and Clem came back here to the ranch."

"And they told you and Pa," Adam whispered.

"Yeah."

Adam jumped up from the stool, sending it toppling over. "And Pa just accepted it?" Adam shouted, kicking the fallen stool the length of the barn. His eyes raging more from fear and anguish than anger, he spun to face Joe, "You and Pa didn't go to Sidewinder Bluff to see for yourselves?"

"Hold on, Adam!" Joe said. "We did go to the bluff. Me and Pa and Clem and Roy."

Adam raised his eyebrows.

"That's right, Adam," Joe added. "Roy and Clem turned right around and went back there with Pa and me. And Pa had us take spare horses so we could ride straight through. I tell you, Adam, he didn't say more than a quick, sharp 'yes' or 'no' the whole way there! I've never seen him in such a bad way. It was like he just knew that if he could get there, Hoss would be alive. And when we got there, we searched all over again. This time, for three days."

Adam hid his face in his hands and rubbed his stinging eyes. "I'm sorry, Joe. I didn't know that part."

"Yeah, I know," Joe said. "I'm not sure what the hardest part was, watching Pa search till I thought he'd collapse, or me, Roy, and Clem trying to convince Pa that Hoss was . . ."

Adam nodded. "That must have been . . ."

"Yeah, Adam," Joe whispered, "it was."

Outside the barn, Hop Sing shuffled across the yard, intent on hastening Adam and Joe to finish their chores, wash up, and meet Ben at the dinner table in fifteen minutes. The barn door stood halfway ajar, and as he tottered closer, he heard the murmur of voices inside. His heart warmed, the two distinct timbres where of late, there had been one, flooded his mind with memories. He stepped closer, placed his hand on the door, and opened his mouth to utter his customary demands. What he heard halted him as if he'd been struck in the face.

"What finally convinced Pa to leave the bluff?" Adam asked.

Joe hung his head. "I was out along the river, still looking between every tree and around every stinking rock, trying to find some sign."

Adam felt his brother's pain. He found himself wishing he'd been there to help. And he thanked God that he hadn't been.

Joe rubbed his tired neck. "When I came back into camp, Roy and Clem were arguing with Pa. They said it was time for the search to be over. Pa wanted to keep looking! He kept saying that his son was out there somewhere, and he wasn't leaving until he found him. What was I supposed to do, Adam?" Joe shouted suddenly. "I didn't want to stop either, but I could see what it was doing to Pa." Joe turned away, hiding his tears from his brother.

Adam reached for Joe's arm. Joe twisted away and leaned against Chubb's empty stall, his hands clutching the topmost edge, his head hanging to his chin. "Roy and the search posses had been searching for six days, Adam! Six days!" Joe's shoulders heaved with each difficult breath, his father's voice echoing in his mind. "And then we got there and we searched for another three!" Joe spun to face his brother. "You didn't hear it, the anguish in Pa's voice. He asked, he ordered, he pleaded, and finally he . . . Adam, Pa begged them to stay, and I . . . I was the only one who could make him see that he'd only be hurting himself if we kept going. I had to make him realize that if we thought there was any chance . . . any hope . . ."

Adam's soul buckled as tears trickled from Joe's eyes. With no conscious awareness, Adam found himself at Joe's side, his reassuring arm draped across his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Joe."

In the yard, Hop Sing turned and hurried back into the house, his heart breaking for Adam and Joe. His saddened eyes cast downward, he entered his kitchen and softly closed the door behind him.

"Hop Sing," Ben said, startling the already frazzled man. "Dinner smells wonderful! Should I call the boys in from the barn?" Ben reached for the door and turned the knob.

"No!" Hop Sing ordered.

Taken aback, Ben's brow wrinkled as he let go of the handle and thrust his hands on his hips. "If dinner is ready, then why in heaven's name can't I go get my sons?"

"Mr. Caltlite, all time yap, yap, yap," Hop Sing complained, flinging his arms and pacing his kitchen. "Mr. Caltlite think dinner ready, Mr. Caltlite WRONG! You want cook? Okay. You cook! Hop Sing go back China! You no want cook, fine! Go away, leave Hop Sing in kitchen. Hop Sing call when dinner ready!"

Ben's mouth hung open as he stared at the raving man. He shook his head, threw his hands in the air, and walked casually back to the great room.

Hop Sing leaned against the kitchen door and sighed. _Boys finish important conversation with no interruptions. Little Joe need tell Adam all he miss. Then family move on. Slowly. But move on. _Hop Sing sighed again. _Hop sing know . . . Mistah Hoss would want it this way._

In the barn, Adam assured Joe that he'd learned all he needed to better cope with what had happened during that terrible time in May. "I'm sure, Joe," Adam said. "And I thank you. It took a lot of courage and fortitude to do what you just did. I know it wasn't easy, and it was selfish of me to even ask."

Joe smiled up at Adam. "No, Adam, it wasn't selfish. But I won't lie. I wish you'd been here . . . for Pa."

"I do too, Joe."

"And for me."

Adam gave Joe's shoulder a strong shake. "And for you."

Cochise nickered and Sport returned the greeting. Adam and Joe smiled at their mounts. Joe made his way to Cooch's stall and stroked the pinto's forehead.

Adam joined him at the stalls before speaking his mind. Holding Sport's muzzle, Adam spoke directly to his horse. "Now I just need to figure out why Candy doesn't like me!"

Joe smiled as Cochise bumped against his shoulder. "I smell dinner."

"Me too," Adam agreed, "and I'm starving!"

Joe nodded and gave Cochise one last pat.

"You okay, Joe?" Adam asked.

"Yeah, Adam," Joe replied. "I'm okay."

Adam and Joe walked, side by side, across the yard and into the house.

"Hi, Pa," Joe said as they entered through the front door.

"Pa," Adam said.

"You two were out there for quite some time," Ben said. "Everything all right?"

Joe busied himself with stoking the fire, hoping his father wouldn't see his swollen eyes.

"Yeah, Pa, "Adam said. "Everything's okay."

Hop Sing peered around the corner of the kitchen hallway. His eyes danced at the sight of Adam, Joe, and Ben together in the living room. "Dinner ready!" he announced as he carried a tray of beef from the kitchen. "Hop Sing make good food. You come, eat now." And as the Cartwrights gathered at the table, Hop Sing grinned. _Boys very honorable. Protect father. Mistah Hoss be very proud._


	11. Chapter 11 - Journeys

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**_JOURNEYS_**

Tiny beads of sweat trickled down her slender neck, slinked beneath the sheer fabric of her chemisette, and gathered between her ample breasts. Her delicate wrist ached, and as she flapped her white-lace fan back and forth she questioned the futility of continuing its use in the sweltering heat of summer. Although she'd remembered to slip her small, square, muslin pillow between her back and the rigid stage seat, every bump and thud of the rolling wheels brought a twinge or throb to her sore muscles. She'd left the stage at every opportunity, stretching her legs and easing the discomfort in her back, but her ankles remained swollen in the scorching August heat and she longed to remove her feet from the confinement of her best pair of dress boots. Her discomfort, though genuine, paled in comparison to the apprehension coursing through her veins.

She'd traveled such a great distance only once before at the care-free age of six. Her father, a well-known and equally well-to-do lawyer, had become fascinated by tales of the new frontier and the way of life in the big cities of the west. Having made the decision to leave his successful Philadelphia law practice behind, he, along with his wife and young daughter, had made the journey from Pennsylvania to San Francisco, California. Her memories of their passage across the country were pleasant, having spent a day here and a week there as they passed through desolate, fledgling towns and fascinating boom towns as well. Her father and mother had seen to it that she was occupied for as much of the journey as possible, regaling her with tales of the pioneers who'd carved out the trails they were now fortunate to follow. They'd brought onto the stage her favorite books and her best slate and writing chalk, and although their arrival in San Francisco had left her wide-eyed and animated, she'd often dreamed of being back onboard the stage, traveling to some new, distant place. That fascination with the stagecoach and travel had ended when she was just twelve years old.

The autumn rains had cooled the air in the city and transformed the dusty streets and walkways into muddy, puddle-covered thoroughfares. Her father, busy as always with the negotiations and formal trials of the mining companies he represented, gave due diligence to his desire to spend evenings with his wife and daughter. On one such evening, while reading near the warmth of the raging fire in their large, two-story home, she'd heard her father's footsteps as he climbed the stairs to the front porch, stomped the excess mud and dirt from his boots, and jiggled the door latch. Her book slid from her hands and onto the floor with a thud as she jumped up and rushed to the door to greet her returning father. That evening their embrace, routine, yet always heartfelt, left her confused. Her father clung to her, and her mother, who would always rush into the room asking, "Is there room for me in the middle of that hug?" stood silently, in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at her husband's grim face.

Moments later, the reason had been revealed. While in town that day, her father had received a telegram from a minister in Santa Rosa notifying them of the grave condition of her mother's aunt. The decision was made by her parents that a sensitive young lady of twelve should not be exposed to the anguish of death, and by morning, her mother was on the stage heading toward Santa Rosa. The farewell at the stage depot that day had been difficult, but her father had assured her that her mother would return as soon as possible, and that upon her return, they should do their utmost to treat her with care.

That was the last time she saw her mother, and the news of the stage, of how the wheels slid and wobbled in the thick, mud-washed hillside, sending the coach toppling over and over as it rolled down the knoll, had haunted her ever since.

And so, several days earlier, at the age of twenty-eight, she'd stood next to her luggage at the depot in San Francisco, awaiting the arrival and imminent departure of the stage coach that would transport her on her journey to the Nevada Territory town of Virginia City.

"Twenty miles to Virginia City, ma'am!" the driver shouted, barely able to be heard over the rickety sounds of the rushing stage.

"Thank you, Mister Curtis!" she yelled, clearing her throat after the unladylike manner in which she'd replied to his requested announcement. Truth be told, her heart had skipped a beat at the realization that her destination was upon her, and the rush of adrenaline had caused her face to flush and her pulse to race. "Calm down, Amanda!" she thought. "No good can possibly come from raising your blood to a boil over your arrival in Virginia City! There'll be plenty of time for that once you've checked into the hotel and prepared yourself for . . . for . . . Oh, gracious!" She reached for the canteen that had been stored next to one of her suitcases on the empty seat directly across from hers. She unscrewed the cap and after helping herself to a sufficient amount of water, she reached for her crocheted bag, pulled on the drawstring and removed a small item wrapped in a neatly embroidered handkerchief. She unfolded the pristine white cloth and gently tore a bite-sized piece from the biscuit inside. After three more similarly sized bites, she removed the pillow from behind her back and placed it instead behind her neck and head. Despite the rocking and pitching of the stagecoach, she was able to rest her head against the pillow, closing her eyes and repeating the exercise of deep inhaling and gentle exhaling until her heart slowed its rapid pace. In her respite, she berated herself for once again allowing her anxieties and doubts to give cause for worry, and she vowed that, indeed, she would find the resolve to carry out what she'd months ago deemed to be the 'right thing to do.'


	12. Chapter 12 - How To Spend The Day

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**_HOW TO SPEND THE DAY_**

Seated at the table, Candy and Joe, each on their third cups of freshly brewed morning coffee, had mapped out the logistics of the day that lie ahead. Anxious for Adam and Ben to join them for breakfast, they were startled when suddenly, the front door of the house flung open to reveal the missing family members immersed in animated conversation.

". . . so if we borrow two of the hands from the lumber operation, we could use them to work on the barn and get it finished in two days, tops!"

"Good thinking, son," Ben said, clapping Adam's broad shoulder. "Hop Sing and Frank are gonna be taking supplies up to the chuck wagon this morning. I'll write a note and have the hands come down from the camp right away. They should be here by tomorrow afternoon."

Joe looked across the table as Candy shrugged his shoulders. "Mornin' Pa, Adam," Joe said. "We were sitting here waiting for the two of you to come downstairs, but I see you've already been out to the barn. Uh, by the way, what's wrong with it?"

Ben glanced at Adam and back to Joe. "What's wrong with what?"

Joe wrinkled his lips and scrunched his nose. "The barn, Pa, the barn! Adam said you need hands to work on the barn!"

"Oh," Ben chuckled as he sat at the head of the large, pine dining table, "not our barn, Joe, the widow Landry's barn." Ben reached for the platter of eggs and ham, took his fill and passed the plate to Adam. "Roy was by here this morning and he told us that during that storm we had the night before last, lightening hit the widow's house and the poor woman has lost nearly everything she owned, including the barn that Asa built, much too close to the house, I might add, just before he passed. So, the widow's friends and neighbors are all chipping in to help her rebuild, and the Cartwrights will be right in the thick of things beginning tomorrow." Ben tore a piece from his slice of toast. "And as always, that includes you, Candy!"

Candy nodded his appreciation as Joe and Adam exchanged glances, smiling at the increasing zest in their father's attitude of late.

"So," Adam said as he cut another bite of the salty ham on his plate, "what have you two been discussing?"

"Well, Adam, seein' as how we thought that you were still upstairs in bed. . ." Joe started before turning to his father and almost whispering, "He is getting older, you know. Needs his beauty sleep. . . Candy and I were discussing the assignment of chores for the day."

Adam chuckled snidely. "And what, pray tell, did the two of you stick me wi . . . I mean, assign me to do?"

Ben watched the game play out by looking at his plate while peering from his lifted eyes. Candy hid his grin in his napkin while Joe pushed forward. "Well, we thought . . ."

"Huh uh," Candy interrupted, "_you_ thought, that's _you_ thought!"

"All right," Joe conceded as he snarled his upper lip at Candy. "_I_ thought Candy and I would ride into town to pick up the boards for the new outhouse . . ."

"Joseph!" Ben scolded.

"Sorry, Pa. Candy and I will pick up the boards for the new necessary," Joe continued, "and we, oh, I mean . . . I thought you could stay right here on the ranch and muck out the barn."

"Ah hah," Adam sneered at Joe. "Why don't you and I go to town and Candy can stay here and muck the day away?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Ben's mouth.

"Come to think of it, Joe," Candy added, "I have a better idea. Why don't Adam and I go to town and you stay here and clean the barn?"

"Huh?" Adam and Joe responded in unison.

Candy winked at Adam. "Adam, you ready?" Candy asked as he stood hurriedly and rushed to the credenza by the front door.

Adam grinned. "Right behind ya," he answered, jumping from his chair as he grabbed one last bite of ham with his fingers.

"HEY!" Joe yelled as Adam and Candy grabbed their gun belts and hats and scurried out the door. "HEY! Come back here!" Joe shouted, springing from his chair, his napkin hanging loosely in his hand.

"Joseph!" Ben scolded. "No shouting in the house!"

"But . . . didja hear? How did . . .? They don't even like each other!" With bewilderment on his face, Joe sat back down in his chair, mumbling under his breath. "Mucking the stalls? _I_ thought _you . . ._Heh!"


	13. Chapter 13 - A Tie That Binds

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**_A TIE THAT BINDS_**

The trip to Virginia City by buckboard was a long one. The ruts along the road still held the water and mud from the storms that had been plaguing the town and delighting farmers and ranchers alike. With Adam at the reins, the buckboard pitched and lurched as the wheels dipped and skidded over the troughs and channels on the trail. For more than half an hour, the pair had ridden in silence. Seated next to him, Candy broke the lingering quiet, exaggerating his discomfort with every bump and wobble. "Would it be too much to ask for you to back up the buckboard? You missed a big rut back there!"

Adam squared his jaw. "If you'd like the reins, just say so."

"What I'd like is to make it to Virginia City in one piece!"

"As I said, you're more than welcome to try, unless you don't think you could do any better!" Adam replied as he was jostled from side to side in the seat.

"Oh, of course, I couldn't possibly do any better than the famous Adam Cartwright! But then, who could?" Candy snarled dramatically.

Adam yanked the reins, pulling up their length and halting the buckboard with a forcible jolt. Candy momentarily lost his balance and careened forward in the seat.

"All right, Mr. Canaday," Adam said, his anger building rapidly. "I have the distinct impression that you do not care for me, and that impression has, thus far, swayed me to return the discontent, which, I might add, leads me to speculate as to your reason for the two of us traveling to Virginia City together!"

Candy calmly removed his hat, screwed his mouth up, and scratched his head just above his left ear. "Let me get this straight. You're upset because you think I don't like you?"

Though Candy's question rang true, hearing just how childish it sounded both embarrassed and infuriated Adam. He jumped from the buckboard and with one hand thrust against his hip and the other raking through his hair, he paced along the side of the wagon. "It can't be that I've done or said something to earn your dislike! You demonstrated your loathing for me when I first walked through the door! I believe your words were, 'Nice to finally meet the _long, lost_ brother!'"

Candy scooted from the buckboard seat, landing evenly on his feet. He leaned against the rig, watching Adam as he paced on the other side of the buckboard. "I said what I meant. It was nice to finally meet you."

Adam froze and glared at Candy. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? This battle of words and seemingly innocent jabs that we've been trading over the past week."

Still leaning against the rig, Candy dropped his head and shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. When he raised his eyes, he returned Adam's glare. "I don't enjoy or dislike your company, Adam. As long as I do my share and stay out of your way, I don't see where there's a problem."

"Well, I do!" Adam replied, resting his forearms along the edge of the buckboard's frame. "And to tell the truth, I think you do as well. So let's get it all out, right here and right now, before Joe or my father get caught in the middle of whatever it is that isn't bothering either one of us!"

Candy looked away, his teeth tightly clenched. _That's why we're here, alone, without the others around. I don't want to cause any grief for Mr. Cartwright or Joe. They've had enough misery of late. So have I. And, I guess, so has . . . No! I'll be damned if I'm gonna get soft on Adam now. He needs to know how I feel and why! _"All right," Candy said. "I'll go first. I spent a lot of years wandering around. I figured I didn't want to be tied down to any one town or any one person. I wanted to see all sorts of places and meet people that I didn't have to care about so I could just up and leave whenever the wind blew my way. Now, I don't claim to be much like you, Adam, but we do have that wanderlust in common."

Still leaning against the buckboard, Adam offered no reaction to Candy's opinions.

"And then I wound up here," Candy continued, "on the Ponderosa with Joe and your father and Hoss and I found a place where I was accepted for who I am; a place where there are no expectations except for being honest and fair; a place where I heard all about the great Adam Cartwright and how he'd helped his father to build the Ponderosa from the ground up. Adam Cartwright, savior of teachers and sheriffs and brothers and the occasional stranger who intrigued him; defender of the underdog, and crusader for fair and legal justice."

"Oh, come on!" Adam grumbled. "You're making me sound like . . ."

"Like the man who left all this behind to wander around," Candy said, his voice softening yet still filled with accusation. "The man who was doing what I'd done. But I wandered because I had nothing of importance holding me in any one place. I didn't leave behind a young brother who worshipped the very ground I walked on and who would do anything to prove to me that he was worthy of my respect."

Adam bristled. "Now wait just a minute. Joe knows damn well how much I respect him and the man he's grown to be!"

"Does he?" Candy asked. "I'm not so sure, Adam. Do you realize that he doesn't get through a day without comparing something, no matter how big or small, to you and how you would have done it? Even now that you're back, he still does it! And your father! That man is capable of performing any task as well as any man I've ever known, yet he second guesses himself – not because he doubts his abilities, but because while you were gone, he was missing a part of himself and believe me, I'm not exaggerating when I say that he grieved for the loss of his _living_ son well before he grieved for Hoss!"

Adam's anger flared. _Who does he think he is?_ "I think I've heard just about enough!"

"Well, I'm not through," Candy replied. "You see, there's one more person who was hurt, deeply hurt, by you leaving them behind to do whatever it was you felt you needed to do. And although he may have shown that hurt in more subtle ways than Joe and your father, I know for a fact that Hoss never came close to understanding why you left, and he never stopped wishing you here with him."

"And you know this how?"

"I know it, Adam," Candy shouted, "because he told me. On more than one occasion, he told me!"

Adam glared at Candy. "I know my brother . . . I knew my brother and he wasn't one to confess his innermost thoughts to a ranch hand!" The instant the words left his lips, Adam wished he could erase the hurtful remark.

Candy bristled. "If you'd been here, Adam, you'd have know that Hoss and I were more than just boss and hired hand! We were friends." Candy clenched his fists at his sides. "In fact, I loved him like a brother and he felt the same way!" Candy saw the torment on Adam's face. Frustrated, he struck the side if the buckboard with his fist and turned away, ashamed of the comparison he'd made.

Adam walked to the back of the rig, climbed inside and sat atop the thin lip of the wagon. With his elbows resting on his knees, he folded his hands and slid his chin between his fingers. "Look, I know that you were more than just a ranch hand to Hoss. I shouldn't have said that, Candy. I apologize."

Candy grabbed the back wheel and vaulted into the wagon, settling across from Adam with his hands grasping the wooden frame. "Yeah, well, I know I shouldn't have compared myself to one of Hoss's brothers. I'm sorry, Adam."

Adam's nod was nearly imperceptible. "Hff . . . Look at us, sitting here being civil with one another. Hoss would like that."

Candy's eye met Adam's. "He would," Candy agreed. "Yes, he would."

"He wrote to me about you," Adam said.

"He did?"

"Yeah," Adam replied. "Said you were a good influence on Joe, most of the time!"

Candy chuckled as he slid from the side wall and plopped his behind onto the floor of the rig. "That sounds like somethin' he'd say. Truth is, Hoss was a good influence on me." Candy snatched up a twig that had fallen into the wagon. With his fingernail, he worked a sliver of the bark loose at one end and began stripping the twig, gently, in long, thin strands.

"I know what you mean," Adam said. "He had a subtle way of opening eyes that were determined to remain closed."

"He sure did," Candy agreed. As he held up a newly shredded piece of bark, he recalled the last time Hoss had spoken of Adam. _This may be a bad idea, but, as Hoss always said, 'Things that bother a body should be let out inta the open'. _Looking straight at Adam, Candy asked the question that had played on his lips since Adam had arrived home. "Did you ever have second thoughts about leaving?"

Adam lifted his chin and studied Candy's face. Sincerity had replaced the snarky gleam in the young man's eyes. Adam sighed. "Yes and no," he answered honestly. "At first, I missed Pa and Hoss and Joe; missed the ranch and even the stock. Early on, I lost count of how many times I considered coming back. Sometimes, usually at night, I'd get this ache in my gut . . . but the next day, I'd land in some tropical paradise and I'd end up finding work and learning about a new culture and, well, it gentled the ache. Sometimes. When I'd get a letter, that ache would all but consume me . . . They'd fill me in on what was happening there – never in enough detail for my wanting. I knew things couldn't always be bright and full of sunshine, and I knew they hid some things from me." Adam grabbed the side of the wagon and lifted himself, straight-armed, from the edge. Wearily, he lowered his backside to the wagon floor and crossed his legs in front of him. "One of the things they kept from me was Pa's close call with pneumonia."

Candy stopped fiddling with the twig and met Adam's questioning eyes. "That was a rough eight days."

"That's it?" Adam asked. "No, 'you should have been here, Adam'?"

Candy sighed. "Why should I tell you something you already know? And besides, between the doc and the sheriff, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing . . ."

"And you," Adam added.

"And me," Candy nodded, "he pulled through and came out of it stronger than ever."

"And?" Adam prodded. Candy simply stared. "If there's something you need to add, do it now, please."

Candy smiled. "And here I thought we were getting along so well, like two old friends," he said sarcastically. "And now you want to go and ruin it!"

Adam smirked. "Out with it!"

"All right. One night, around the fourth day, I think, Joe was sitting up with Mister . . . your pa. Something woke me and I was afraid that . . . I thought . . . well, I thought Joe might need me for something, so I went out into the hall and down to your pa's room. The door was open, so I just whispered, asking Joe if everything was all right. He looked at me, and since the room was barely lit, I could only see a little of his face. He looked awful, Adam, like he'd aged twenty years in four days. He said he was fine and that there was no change, so I headed back to my room, but something caught my eye: a light shining underneath your bedroom door."

Adam straightened his cramping legs, drawing his knees close to his chest.

"I'd been living in the house for two years and in that time, I'd never seen anyone go in your room. So, I pushed on the door and it opened . . . just a bit. I peeked inside and Hoss was there, sitting on your bed, holding what looked to be a book. But he wasn't reading, he was just sitting there, staring at the pages. I started to back away and one of the damned floor boards creaked!"

Adam laughed. "That would be the board Pa never wanted fixed. It was his way of knowing when I came in later than I was supposed to!"

Candy smiled and shook his head. "Your father is priceless!"

"Damn!" Adam shouted.

"What's wrong?" Candy asked.

"We actually agree on something! "Adam said. "But don't get used to it!"

"Don't worry!" Candy said, grinning. "I won't!"

"So, did Hoss know you were there?"

"Yeah," Candy replied. "He looked up when he heard the creak, saw the door moving, and asked me to come in. Just so you know, I wiped my feet before I entered the honored sanctuary . . ."

"Oh, Lord! Don't start _that_ again!" Adam insisted.

"Sorry," Candy teased. "Habit." He stared at the twig in his hands and yanked away another bark-strip. "So, I went in and walked up to the bed."

"You okay, Hoss?" I asked. "It's awfully late."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, Candy, I'm okay," was all he said. Then he closed the book and gently rubbed his thumb over the cover."

"I waited, hoping he'd say more. I knew he must be exhausted. He'd done a full day's worth of chores by two in the afternoon, washed up and then took his turn sitting with your father. And here it was, three in the morning, and he was just sitting there. I told him he should get some rest, and he invited me to sit. I knew he needed to talk, so I pulled up your green chair and sat there, waiting. Finally, he opened the book. But it wasn't a book, Adam. It was a journal. Your father's journal from when he and your mother were courting and married."

"Pa gave me that journal on my sixteenth birthday," Adam said, smiling. "I keep it on the third shelf of my bookcase."

"Hoss knew right where to find it, didn't he?" Candy asked, knowing full well the memories rising in Adam's heart.

"Yeah, he did," Adam whispered. "When Hoss was little, and Pa had to be away, I'd often find him crying in Pa's room. I'd read to Hoss from that journal. He loved to hear Pa's stories of the sea and the adventures he'd had on the continents where they'd docked ship." Adam's voice stuck in his throat.

Candy looked away, hoping to give Adam the time he needed to gather his thoughts.

"And Hoss had the journal that night?" Adam asked.

"Yeah," Candy replied. "He read me one of the passages. And I admit that the words rang so true that I went back later and copied them. I've read it so many times, I know it by rote. "The moment I came to realize that the well-being of my own heart truly lay in the hearts of others, I recognized that I must give up . . ."

". . . all notions of self, lest my own heart be destroyed," Adam finished, his eyes far away.

Candy hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "After he'd quoted your father's journal, Hoss asked me one question, Adam. He asked me if I thought that your heart was destroyed when you left."

Adam sprang from the buckboard and hurried to a safe distance. He stood hugging himself, staring down the trail that led back to the Ponderosa.

Candy sat in the buckboard, his head hanging in shame. _I really thought he didn't care. No matter how many stories I heard to the contrary, I judged a man I'd never met, and now, I've hurt him for no reason except that . . . Oh, no! I'm jealous! I've hurt him on purpose because I'm jealous!_ Candy climbed from the wagon. "Adam," he said, "I'm sorry. I had no call to . . . no right . . ."

Adam's chest pressed against his folded arms.

"Adam," Candy called. "You asked why I don't . . . didn't like you. Well, I didn't even know why until just now. I was, I _am_, jealous! You had everything I never had the sense to realize I wanted, and you gave it all up. At least, that's the way I saw it."

Adam turned, his face tense and angry. "And I was jealous of you, what with all the things Joe and Hoss, and even Pa, wrote in their letters. I was jealous because you had the courage to settle on the Ponderosa, with my family, after claiming for so long that you needed to be alone and constantly on the move. It took me years to come to that realization and when I finally did, I booked passage back to the states, went back to my rooming house to prepare for the trip, and the very next day, before I was to head to the docks, there was a knock on my door and the wire was delivered. The wire saying Hoss . . . was gone. And when I learned that you were the last person to see him . . . alive . . . all of his letters came flooding back into my mind; stories of your round-ups together, your trips to Virginia City, the poker games, the trips to San Francisco. Candy, I can't say I'm proud of it, but in those first few days after I heard the news, I despised you. Despised the time you'd spent with my brothers, despised the fondness in Pa's words about his new foreman."

"And I thought you didn't care one hoot about your family," Candy admitted. "I pictured you havin' the time of your life, never giving a thought to the good people I was startin' to care about."

Adam let out a forceful sigh. "Well, aren't we a pair?" Adam walked back to the buckboard. "You angry with me for leaving and . . ."

"And you angry with me for staying!" Candy added.

Candy made his way to the front of the rig and heaved himself into the seat. "Me trying to live up to the perfect Adam Cartwright and . . ."

Adam hauled himself into the seat next to Candy. "And failing miserably."

"HEY!" Candy shouted.

Adam grinned sheepishly. "Heeyah!" Adam yelled and with a flick of the reins, he sent Candy scrambling to right himself in his seat.


	14. Chapter 14 - Past Fears and Future

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**_PAST FEARS AND FUTURE PROMISES_**

"Two miles to Virginia City, ma'am!" the driver shouted.

"Thank you, Mr. Curtis!" Amanda yelled. The familiar, unsettling rush hit her again, rising from her cramped, swollen toes to her perfectly coifed head. "Oh, goodness!" Hugging her small, crocheted bag tightly to her chest, she forced herself to breath steadily until the wave of warmth passed. "You've made it this far, Amanda," she thought. "The stage will arrive, safe and sound. You'll check into the International Hotel, request a much needed bath, have a nourishing meal at the restaurant there, and then settle in for a nap. Everything beyond that will just have to wait."

Though Mr. Curtis, mindful of his delicate, female passenger, made every attempt to dodge as many ruts and craters as possible the well-traveled road made a smooth ride impossible. The stage bucked and wiggled as they neared the town, and with one such bump, Amanda rolled sharply to the left, banging her forearm roughly against the side of the stage.

"Sorry, ma'am!" the driver yelled.

"That's quite all right, Mr. Curtis!" Amanda replied, gently rubbing the bruise already forming on her arm. The sensation brought the flash of a memory long-wished forgotten. Amanda closed her eyes and shuddered.

Amanda Spencer Findley hadn't traveled by stagecoach since the death of her mother some sixteen years ago, and even though her lawyer and trusted friend, Randall Binghamton, Esquire, had assured her that with her wealth and the circumstances that brought about her litigation she need not make an appearance in person, Amanda had insisted. And so, one chilly January morning, Amanda and Randall had boarded a stage headed from San Francisco to San Quinton Prison.

"Amanda, I wish you would change your mind! You still can, you know," Randall suggested as the stage pitched and joggled along. "When we arrive, I can see to it that you're checked into the hotel and I can proceed to the prison."

Amanda's head shook vehemently. "Randall," she said, "I will not regress to the level of cowardice I have overcome in the past year. I will go to the prison. I will stand next to you as you present my request, and I will face Jackson Findley one final time as my divorce is granted."

And so, with her head held high and her lawyer-friend at her side, Amanda Spencer Findley, escorted by two burly prison guards, had marched through the gate and across the courtyard of San Quinton Prison. Once inside, Amanda's eyes darted from side to side as they waited for their next set of escorts to arrive. The prison, thus far, was far from the dungeon-like facility she'd expected, and she found that she was disappointed to learn that her husband had been incarcerated in a civilized place such as this.

Two more guards arrived and ushered Amanda and Randall down a long, bare hallway to a large door where they each took their positions, flanking the doorway. The guard on the left turned and knocked lightly on the entryway.

"Come in," came the gruff voice from inside the room. Amanda glanced at Randall, inhaled deeply, and waited as he reached for the door knob.

The office of Warden Bartholomew Higgins was stark and void of any personality, and in the short span of twenty minutes, the warden had proven himself to be the counterpart of his surroundings. He'd introduced himself, accepted the documents in Randall's extended hand, and invited Amanda and Randall to be seated as he scanned the papers for the proper wording and required signatures. Amanda found the silence to be unnerving, and Randall's frequent glances of reassurance were welcomed and very much appreciated.

When he'd finished his inspection of the formal, legal divorce request, Warden Higgins placed both hands atop the thin pile of papers and summoned one of the guards from outside the slightly ajar door. "Bring him in!"

Panic coursed through Amanda's entire being. While she'd known she would have to face her husband, she'd expected some sort of warning; a few moments to collect her thoughts and her composure before being faced with the man who, just six days after their marriage, had been arrested, tried, and sentenced to ten years in prison for his part in the murder of his own father.

The chains rattled in an eerie rhythm as Jackson Findley shuffled toward the doorway. Randall leaped to his feet, stretching his neck and shoulders, gaining an inch to his already formidable height of six feet four inches. He moved protectively close to Amanda, his wrist brushing softly against her shoulder. As the clatter of the shackles came nearer, Randall saw Amanda's jaw clench, and he watched her hands, lying in her lap as they twisted her handkerchief over and over. And when Jackson appeared in the doorway, Randall heard an almost imperceptible gasp from the frightened, resilient woman seated next to him.

"Go on!" ordered the guard. "All the way in and up to the warden's desk."

Jackson complied, and as he scuffled across the room, his piercing eyes glared at Amanda's lowered head. He stood tall, expanding his chest as he inhaled, and centered himself along the front edge of Warden Higgins' desk.

"Good morning, Warden Higgins," he said, his calm, matter-of-fact tone reminding Amanda of a mischievous schoolboy seeking to win his teacher's favor. A chill ran through to her very core.

"Prisoner Jackson Findley," the warden said, "you are, I understand, aware that your wife, Mrs. Amanda Findley, has requested that you agree to a reversal of your marital vows."

"Yes, Warden Higgins," Jackson said, craning his neck to glower at his trembling wife, "I am aware."

The warden glared at Randall. "As you may or may not be aware, in addition to being warden of this prison, and I am also a lawyer. That said," he shifted his direction to Jackson, "I have examined the legal papers carried in by Mrs. Findley's attorney, Mr. Binghamton."

"I know Mr. Binghamton quite well, warden," Jackson said, scowling at Randall before turning his attention back to the warden.

Randall stood firmly, unscathed by Jackson's attempt at intimidation.

"Prisoner Findley, are you prepared to sign the request?" the warden asked.

Jackson paused, his head down, knowing full well the effect his delay would have on his wife and one-time friend. He cleared his throat, raised his grinning face, and answered the jailor's question. "Warden Higgins, I will not now, nor will I ever, agree to the request made by my wife!"

Amanda's heart thumped against her chest, skipping rhythmic beats as she gasped for breath.

"Warden!" Randall shouted, pounding his fists on the desk. "This is preposterous! I request that the prisoner be granted legal counsel! Any decent lawyer will tell him that customarily, a conviction of murder leads to honoring the request of divorce! Furthermore, Mrs. Findley and I _will_ take this matter to the governor, where I am sure the request will be granted with or without the signature of _Prisoner _Findley!"

Jackson's eyes bore down on Randall, and the arrogant smirk on the man's face sent a chill through Randall's bones. "Warden," Jackson said, his eyes still fixed on his former friend, "would you be so kind as to read the letter you received yesterday?"

Warden Higgins swallowed hard. He opened the desk drawer to his right, removed an envelope, and reluctantly slid the paper from inside. With his eyes down, he unfolded the letter, one section at a time, hesitating with each movement. He cleared his throat as Jackson looked on impatiently.

"I received this letter, yesterday, from Governor Johnson, and it reads as follows: Under authority of the great state of California, I hereby deny the request for annulment and or termination of the marriage between Jackson Albert Findley and Amanda Jean Findley. At this time, no further requests in this matter will be addressed nor granted. Signed, Governor J. Neely Johnson."

"Virginia City up ahead, ma'am!" Mr. Curtis shouted. His announcement snapped Amanda from her memories of the prison on that horrible day. Her racing heart sped even faster, the tall buildings and bustling sights of the city coming quickly into view. She dabbed at her eyes with her embroidered handkerchief and as she lowered her hand, she realized she hadn't finished the biscuit that had since fallen to the floor of the coach. As the stage moved further into town, the bumps and troughs along the well-used street evened and the ride calmed to a gentler rock and sway, and Amanda's anxiety grew as she focused on the purpose for her visit to Virginia City.


	15. Chapter 15 - First Encounters

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**_FIRST ENCOUNTERS_**

The buckboard rolled to a stop as Adam thrust the brake against the axle. He slipped from the seat and squinted into the midday sunshine as he looked up at Candy. With his feet propped against the front panel, his hat pulled down to his nose, and his hands tucked beneath his armpits, Adam wasn't even sure that his foreman was conscious. "Think you can stay out of trouble while I check on the order?" he asked. Candy lifted his right arm and weakly waved his affirmation in the general direction of Adam's voice. Adam grinned and nodded as he spun around and entered Jergensen's Saw Mill and Lumber Yard, hoping that the order his father had placed would be ready for loading.

The stage, with its creaks and clunks and pounding hoof beats, intruded on Candy's attempt at a nap. He sighed before he moved, and when he tipped his hat back onto his head, he found he was in full view of the depot as the stage driver pulled to a stop. Sherman Riddle scurried from the depot, carrying the wooden steps he routinely placed below the stage door. As the driver, who Candy recognized as Elmer Curtis, hustled from his perch atop the stage, Sherman opened the door and extended a hand to the first, and only, passenger. Candy watched as Elmer removed his trail-dusted hat, revealing his balding head. To Candy's disgust, Elmer licked his dusty fingertips and smoothed the one excessively long patch of hair that remained on top of his head to the left, tucking it behind his ear. Sherman, usually an 'all-business' man, shifted his weight from foot to foot, his uncharacteristic wide-eyed grin making him look like a love-sick school boy. _Must be a pretty . . . Whoa! _Candy let out a soft whistle as the lovely young passenger on the noon stage took the depot officer's hand and stepped gracefully from the stage. Candy jumped from the buckboard for a closer look at the new arrival. Her light brown hair, streaked with a touch of auburn, hung loosely about her shoulders and cascaded midway down her back. She was dressed in a burgundy skirt and matching blouse and the sheer white chemisette that framed her slender neck and bust-line was edged in delicate lace. He watched her poised interaction with the gaping stage men and saw her smile as Sherman pointed the way to the International Hotel. _The lady's staying, and she needs a place in town. Hmm . . . Could be she doesn't know anyone in Virginia City._

Candy straightened his neck cloth and brushed off his trousers. Just as he took his first step toward the stage, Adam, returning from inside the mill, grabbed him by the arm. Candy swung to face Adam.

"Hold it, mister," Adam said. "You're not going anywhere until you help me load those boards.

"But . . ." Candy said.

"But nothin'!" Adam interrupted. "Climb in and we'll take her around back to load up."

"But," Candy said, as he turned and pointed toward the stage, "didn't you see . . ." His shoulders slumped with disappointment as he stood pointing at an empty space on the walkway. He searched the street and the sidewalks on either side, but caught no glimpse of the brown hair and burgundy dress. "She was just . . . Oh, never mind! Let's just get the boards."

Adam smirked. "Let's get the boards, then get a couple o' beers!"

"That sounds like a plan! Are ya sure you didn't see her?" Candy replied as he quickly clambered into the buckboard, grabbed the reins, and flicked them against the team.

"Her? There was a her?" Adam said as he turned, gaping toward the stage.

The buckboard began to roll, leaving Adam behind. He ran a few steps and leaped onto the back of the rig. "Just for that, Mr. Foreman, you're buying the first _and second_ rounds!"

"Thank you, Mr. Young," Amanda said as she signed the registration book at the International Hotel. "Mr. Riddle was kind enough to offer to ask a young boy to carry my bags to my suite. He should be along any minute now. Would you please see to it that the boy gets this?" Amanda handed Mr. Young several coins, the look on his face making it known that he didn't approve of such a large gratuity. "And this is for all of your help with my room and . . ." Amanda blushed, not sure how to thank him for arranging her bath.

Mr. Young noted her embarrassment. "You are very welcome, Mrs. Findley. Now, if I may show you to your rooms?"

"Thank you, Mr. Young."

The loading yard behind Jergensen's Saw Mill smelled of fresh cut pine and the ground was littered with fine sawdust and splintered wood chips. Although the midday sun blazed in the sky, the yard, shadowed by the large, two story buildings on either side, cooled Adam and Candy as they loaded the last of the newly lathed boards into the rig. Candy tossed a rope across the pile of timbers, securing one end to the right side of the buckboard, as Adam did the same to the left. Satisfied that the boards were secure, they climbed into the seat and drove the wagon into the alleyway, around the buildings, and onto the main street in Virginia City.

At the subtle sound of footsteps, Mr. Young looked up from his hotel account books to see Mrs. Findley descending the stairs. "Is there something I might do for you, Mrs. Findley?" he asked, concerned by her sudden appearance. "I trust there is no problem with your luggage or your suite."

"My suite is more than adequate, Mr. Young," Amanda assured, "and the young man was prompt and polite in delivering my bags. In my haste to settle in here at the hotel, I completely forgot that I need to send a wire. Might you direct me to the telegraph office?"

"Of course. Go out of the hotel, cross the street, then turn right and the office is seven storefronts away."

Amanda smiled. "Thank you," she said, her smile lighting up the hotel lobby. As she left the entrance, Mr. Young returned her smile – a rare occurrence for the curmudgeonly, old innkeeper.

"You think Joe's gonna give us grief for leaving the barn chores for him ta do?" Candy asked.

Adam grinned. "Have you met my brother?"

Candy laughed heartily. "Yeah, I guess you're right!" Candy reined the buckboard to a halt, and he and Adam jumped down and started on their way to the Bucket of Blood Saloon. As they passed Edna Martin's Boutique, they stopped and tipped their hats to three giggling young ladies. Candy turned, still walking beside Adam, and watched them continued on their way. "In a couple more years, those gals'll be . . ."

"Look out!" Adam shouted as his foreman bumped blindly into the young woman turning the corner. Adam reached for her arm as she staggered, saving her from a nasty fall.

"I'm so sorry!" Candy cried, taking her other arm in his hand. "I should have been . . . Hey, you're the one from the stage!"

"Are you all right, Miss?" Adam asked, noting her paleness as she gathered herself.

"You should have been watching where you were going," Amanda insisted as she yanked her arms free, "instead of ogling those young women!"

"You are absolutely right, Miss," Adam agreed. "My friend here has quite an eye for the ladies, and I'm ashamed to say that it's gotten him into trouble more times than I can count."

Candy sneered. "And all this time I thought you could count higher than two!"

"Ah heh," Adam sneered, shaking his head and curling his upper lip.

"May I buy you a cup of coffee for your trouble?" Candy asked.

"Oh, please! I doubt that this lovely lady would want to share coffee with the man who nearly toppled her into the street! My name, by the way, is Ad . . ."

"If you 'gentlemen' will excuse me," Amanda said, "I am in a hurry to get to where I was going before you . . . before our little misfortune. I assure you, I am fine. Good day, gentlemen."

Amanda pushed past the pair and they watched her continue on her way, turning at last into the telegraph office. "She's the woman who got off the noon stage!" Candy said as they turned toward the saloon. "Did you see those blue eyes?" Candy shook his head and whistled.

"I didn't get as close a look as you," Adam snickered, "seeing as how I didn't run head-on into the poor thing!"

Candy kept walking but turned to look back at the telegraph office doorway.

"Oh, would you stop before you actually hurt someone!" Adam said, grabbing Candy's arm and twisting him around. "If you end up flattened on the street, who's gonna buy the beer?"


	16. Chapter 16 - The Generous Reward

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**_THE GENEROUS REWARD HONESTY_**

Amanda reached her fingertips into the bottom of her bag, searching for the coins she'd dropped inside before leaving the hotel. When she handed the currency to the lanky telegraph operator, he glanced into his palm and shook his head. "You've given me too much, ma'am," he said, quickly picking through the coins.

Amanda smiled. "That's quite all right," she insisted, "you've been very helpful. And I appreciate your honesty. You may keep the change." And with that, she turned and floated from the office, the blushing young man gazing after her. She retraced her steps and when she entered the lobby of the International Hotel, Amos Young assured her that he'd see to it that the hot water for her bath was brought up immediately.

She climbed the stairs, fatigue from days of travel evident in her stiff, swollen legs and shoulders. She yawned, quickly covering her gaping mouth with her hand, and when she turned the corner at the top of the staircase, she nearly collided with the young boy who'd earlier carried her suitcases to the hotel. Startled, Amanda let out a gasp, and the boy hung his head in apology.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said.

Amanda labored to slow her breathing, realizing how close she'd come to toppling down the stairs of the hotel.

"I really am sorry, ma'am," the boy repeated, seeing her distress.

Tenderly, Amanda lifted the boy's chin, her kind face meeting his frightened green eyes. "I accept your apology, son. I should have been paying more attention to where_ I_ was going, as well," Amanda said.

"You sure you're okay?" the boy asked.

"I'm fine," she replied, "but I need to ask what you are doing up here, just outside my room?"

The boy reached into his left trouser pocket and dug around, his tongue poking to and fro. Finally, his face brightened as he pulled four coins and a bit of lint from the pocket. Embarrassed by the small clump of gatherings, he quickly removed the coins with his other hand and offered them to Amanda. "My ma and I think you accidentally gave me too much money for bringing your suitcases to the hotel. We want to give it all back so you can decide what you really meant to give me."

Touched by the boy's gesture and honesty, Amanda knelt in front of him and smiled. She placed her soft, warm hands around his and closed his fingers around the coins. "I'm very proud of you for being so honest," she said, "and I'm sure your mother is, too. I want you to keep this money, and if you would, do me another favor."

The boy nodded with excitement and Amanda grinned.

"All right then. Take this money," she reached once again into her bag, removed two more coins, and added them to those in his palm, "and go to the general store. You see, I seem to have developed a sweet tooth, and I would like it if you would buy four cents worth of peppermints and bring them to the desk downstairs. Leave them with Mr. Young, and I will get them from him later today."

The boy nodded and wrinkled his nose as he counted the new coins. "But, you gave me eight cents, ma'am."

Amanda stood, smoothing her skirt. "Yes, I did. I'd like for you to buy a second bag of sweets for you and your mother to share, if that's all right with you."

The boy nearly shook with delight. "Yes, ma'am!" he shouted, dashing for the stairs. He stopped quickly, remembering the last time he'd run toward the stairs. He turned back to Amanda and smiled, "Thank you, ma'am!"

Amanda nodded. "You're welcome," she said and before retiring to her room, she watched the boy gallop down the stairs and out the door.

She'd barely had time to remove her hat when she heard a rap on the door. Mr. Young and two young men stood in the hallway. Amanda ushered them inside and after two more trips carrying the large buckets of steaming water, her washtub had been filled to her liking. She tipped the young men generously, and after refusing his gratuity, Mr. Young excused himself with a nod and a smile.

Amanda grabbed the handle of her largest suitcase, thought better of lifting the heavy bag, and instead, knelt next to it and slipped the latch. She removed several neatly folded blouses, two skirts, and various undergarments, all of which she tucked into the drawers of the bureau in the room. She knelt again and lifted out a jacket and three scarves, finally uncovering her large bottle of lavender bath salts. Sitting on the edge of the large, claw-footed tub, she sprinkled the salts into the steaming bath water and stirred it gently with her hand. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the scent as she massaged her sore neck muscles. After undressing, taking care to lay her garments carefully about the bed as she did, Amanda slipped into the bath, the heat of the water providing immediate relief to her swollen feet and legs. Resting her head against the upper lip of the tub, Amanda closed her eyes and tried to set aside all thoughts of what lay ahead for her in the next few days. Though she was able to relax and did actually drift off for a few moments of much needed sleep, she was unable to push aside the anxiety and sadness she'd hidden deep in her heart.


	17. Chapter 17 - Friendship Revealed

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**_FRIENDSHIP REVEALED_**

The wheelbarrow pitched and wobbled as Joe rounded the southeast corner of the barn for the fifth time. Expecting full well that Adam and Candy would share their sarcastic comments and unfounded criticisms of the chores he'd done that day, Joe had taken special care to complete each task with his best effort. He expected their return within the hour, and he couldn't help but wonder how, and if, the two had managed to spend the morning and most of the afternoon together without coming to blows. It had occurred to Joe shortly after they'd left that morning that Candy and Adam going off together, willingly, seemed to be a planned move – whether on Adam's part or Candy's, Joe wasn't sure.

Joe tilted the wheelbarrow up against the wall in the back corner of the barn, wiped his brow with his forearm, and grabbed the large pitchfork at the back of Sport's stall. Earlier, he'd hauled in the clean, sweet-smelling hay, and now and now he tossed the equal portions into each of the empty stalls. Sweat trickled from his forehead, stinging his eyes and causing his nose to drip. Setting the pitchfork aside, Joe removed his shirt and tossed it over the side of the stall. He picked up the ladle from his water bucket, and after taking several sips, he splashed his chest, face, and head. Returning to the haying of the stalls, Joe's mind wandered once again to Adam and Candy. Their week of constant jabs and subtle insults had bothered Joe. Although it was obvious that they'd tried to be civil in front of his father, they had let their tempers get the best of them on at least two occasions. He'd watched his father for a reaction, and had seen the look of curious concern on his face. _I sure do hope those two work out whatever it is that's got them spittin' nails around each other! And if not, I just hope they get back here in one piece!_

Satisfied that the stalls were in tip-top shape, Joe went out to the corral, unlatched the gate and whistled. Obediently, Cochise trotted up to the opening. "Go on in, Cooch," Joe said. "Time for a good brushing." The pinto walked across the yard and into the barn and stopped, standing regally in front of her stall. Joe latched the gate and followed his horse into the barn. "Good girl!" Joe grabbed the brush from the shelf along the wall and started one of his favorite chores: caring for Cochise, and before long, Joe was humming as he stroked his pony's neck and chest.

Cochise raised her head and flicked her ears at the racket of the buckboard approaching. "Someone comin', girl?" Joe said, listening, then shaking his head. "I sure do wish I could hear as good as you do, Cooch! Maybe it's Adam and Candy." Joe slid the brush back onto its shelf and started for the barn door. Cochise tossed her head and stepped into her stall. "Yep, it's them!" Joe said. "Sorry, girl, I'll finish up later!" On the way to the door, Joe took hold of his damp, smelly shirt, held it to his nose, and tossed it back into the empty stall before heading out into the late afternoon sun.

Candy was at the reins, with Adam next to him, reclining in the seat with his hat pulled down over his eyes.

"It's about time!" Joe yelled. "I thought maybe the two of you'd gotten lost!"

Adam spoke from beneath his hat. "I got us there and all he had to do was follow the breadcrumbs back home."

"Whoa!" Candy shouted as he reined the team to a stop. "Yeah, he got us there all right," Candy complained, "by hitting every rut and knoll along the road!"

"Uh oh," Joe thought. "I'm guessing it wasn't a pleasant trip to Virginia City! At least it doesn't look like any blood was shed!"

Candy jumped down from the rig, leaving Adam crouched in the seat alone. "Are you gonna git down here and help me unload all this wood?" Candy asked. "Or is it past your bedtime?"

Joe grinned and stifled a chuckle.

Adam stretched at a leisurely pace. He removed his hat and gently poked the inside, pushing out any dents and dimples.

Candy leaned against the buckboard and sighed at Adam's theatrics.

Adam set his hat back onto his head and stood on the footrest, twisting his neck, and rotating his shoulders.

Candy groaned, dropping his chin to his chest.

Adam climbed down from the rig and casually sauntered to the back of the buckboard. With his hands on his hips, he stood next to Candy and twisted his torso left and then right. Candy, his chin still against his chest, closed his eyes and smiled. "You done yet?" he asked.

"Yes, I believe I am," Adam answered.

"Good," Candy said, climbing atop the boards, "grab an end."

Adam did as asked, but when Candy lifted the end of one of the long, heavy boards, Adam quickly dropped his. "Why, Joe," Adam said sarcastically, "what ever has happened to your shirt?" Candy sighed again, dropped to one knee and leaned on his thigh.

Joe puffed his chest and arms. "I've been working," he replied, clearly irritated by Adam's games, "in the hot, sticky barn since eight this morning! Mmmucking . . . remember?"

"Candy?" Adam asked.

"Yes, yes, I do seem to remember something about the barn," Candy said, nodding excessively.

"Very funny!" Joe exclaimed. "And while I was moving livestock, raking, washing, toting, hammering, feeding, and MUCKING, what is it that the two of you were doing?" Joe asked, swinging his arms about. "Riding and lifting a few measly boards, that's what!"

"Boards?" Candy asked. "Adam, do you remember any boards?"

Adam cocked his head. "Hmm . . . let me see now . . . I remember riding. Oh, and I remember stopping!"

"I believe you're right, Adam!" Candy agreed. "Riding, stopping, and . . . oh yes, there was loading!"

"So that's where those boards came from!" Adam cried.

"Oh, no!" Joe thought. "There's two of them!"

"And I remember beer!" Adam shouted. "And lunch!"

"Yeah!" Candy added. "Beer and lunch! And by the way, thanks for recommending the peach pie."

"You're quite welcome," Adam said. "It's wonderful, isn't it? Just a hint of cinnamon."

"Oh brother!" Joe mumbled.

"Oh, and there was the woman," Candy said, winking at Adam and grabbing hold of the topmost board.

"Yes, there was the woman," Adam replied, taking hold of the other end of the plank.

Adam backed up and Candy stepped down from the rig. Together, they carried the first of the boards toward the barn.

"Woman?" Joe asked, walking along with Candy and Adam. "What woman?"

"Careful, Adam," Candy said. "A little to your left."

"Thanks," Adam replied.

"What woman?" Joe repeated, nearly getting smashed between the barn door and Adam's body.

"Let's stack them in the corner," Adam said.

"WHAT WOMAN?" Joe shouted.

"Oh, just the new woman in town that I nearly toppled into the street," Candy replied as he and Adam marched back to the buckboard with Joe scurrying alongside.

"I think I'll have the pie again next time," Adam said as he climbed into the rig for another board.

"You almost what?" Joe cried.

"I almost ran right into her!" Candy replied, pushing past Joe. "If you do, make sure to get the whipped cream on top," Candy recommended as he lifted another board and started moving backwards.

When the second board had been stacked in place, Joe stood, hands on his hips, in the center of the doorway. "WHAT WOMAN?" he shouted.

"The attractive, young, blue-eyed woman who got off the noon stage, and is staying at the International Hotel, has silky, light brown hair with a hint of auburn, and smells of sweet lavender," Adam said as he and Candy pushed past Joe.

Joe turned, smiled, and watched them unloading the next plank. _Looks like they worked something out! Now, I need to see this new woman for myself!_


	18. Chapter 18 - New In Town

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**_NEW IN TOWN_**

The men and women passing on the street below moved like spirits from a ghost town as Amanda peered through the batiste curtains hanging in her hotel room window. Earlier, she'd finished her bath, dressed, and taken her favorite book from her small suitcase. She'd read several chapters, and the next thing she remembered was awaking in the chair and finding that the book had fallen to the floor. _I guess the journey has taken more of a toll on me than I realized! _Pulling the sheer fabric aside, she noticed several couples walking arm in arm as they made their way to the restaurant across the street. Leaning closer to the window pane, she looked to her far left and saw the entrance to the Bucket of Blood Saloon. There she saw a young woman, dressed in a colorful, short dress that flared with crinolines from the waist to the tops of her knees. On her head, she wore a band accentuated with a plume of brightly dyed feathers and ribbons, and even from such a distance, Amanda could see that the woman's face was painted with rouge and lip color meant to attract male customers into the saloon. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to wonder what she might look like wearing such a dress, with painted cheeks and gaudy jewelry. She blushed and shuddered as she thought of how close she'd come to being penniless and she wondered if she would have taken to the saloons in order to have a roof over her head and food in her stomach. She found herself trembling as she remembered how she'd nearly lost everything she had, everything her father had worked for and left to her, everything that Jackson Findley would have stolen had he not been caught and convicted as an accessory to murder.

The curtain slid between her fingertips, closing on the street scene below. Her stomach rumbled, and she hastily gathered her boots and stockings and made her way to the bed. As she slipped the first stocking onto her foot, she was pleased to see that the swelling in her ankle had gone down, and as she smoothed the fabric up her leg, she noticed that the stiffness she'd experienced that morning had gone away as well. With her hat in hand, she stood in front of the wood-framed mirror that hung above the wash table. She primped her hair, placed her hat just so, and checked her bag for the money she'd need to pay for her meal. _First thing tomorrow morning, I need to stop in to one of the banks in town._ After one last glance in the mirror, Amanda left her room, locked the door behind her, and once downstairs, tapped on the bell on the clerk's desk.

Mr. Young arrived promptly and, after a brief discussion of Amanda's likes and dislikes, recommended two restaurants in town, the first being the restaurant in the International Hotel. He escorted her into the dining room and asked that she be given the best seat in the house. She thanked him for his help, and as she reached for her bag, he shook his head. "No need, Mrs. Findley."

"Thank you, Mr. Young," Amanda replied, realizing that the expectation of payment for every kindness that was the norm in San Francisco was not considered, by proper citizens, to be the custom in Virginia City. Her meal was perfect, and although her appetite of late had varied, she ate all of her beef and potatoes and most of the peas and carrots. She passed on dessert, knowing that a bag of peppermints awaited her back at the lobby desk. After her second cup of coffee, Amanda paid her bill and stepped outside for a bit of fresh air before retiring to her room for the evening.

The street was dark and the walkways sparkled with circles of light shimmering from the evenly placed street lamps. The air was cooling and the smell of rain-soaked earth that she'd noticed upon her arrival had faded with the sunshine of the afternoon. Much of the main street was quiet with an occasional passerby or rider heading toward the saloons. Amanda listened to the night sounds of the city, comparing them to the raucous symphonies that plagued sections of San Francisco at all hours of the day and night. Being fond of music and quite skilled at the piano, she identified the tune being played in the closest saloon as "Seeing Nellie Home." The sound of laughter rose and fell from time to time, always accompanied by the roar of male voices and the higher pitched giggles of the working girls down the street. A group of six men staggered from the Bucket of Blood and walked noisily in the direction of the hotel. Amanda hurried inside, stopping at the desk, and tapping once again on the calling bell. Mr. Young had ended his shift during her meal, and a new face, Mr. Sandy Mitchell, answered the call.

"May I help you, Miss?" he asked.

"Yes," Amanda replied. "My name is Mrs. Findley, and I believe you have a small bag for me."

"Ah, yes," Mr. Mitchell said. "Amos . . . I mean, Mr. Young told me to expect you. I trust you enjoyed your meal here in the restaurant."

"Yes, I did," Amanda said, reaching for the bag he'd found beneath the desk.

"Will there be anything else, Mrs. Findley?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr. Mitchell. Could you recommend a bank in town?" Amanda asked. "I need to open an account as soon as possible."

"Well, there are two banks that most of our more prosperous citizens use. One is The Bank of California and the other is Smithton Bank and Trust. They're both on the other side of the street and to your right."

"Thank you, Mr. Mitchell," Amanda said, reaching into her bag.

"Ma'am, that's not necessary," he said, having heard of her generosity from Mr. Young.

"Very well. Good evening, Mr. Mitchell," Amanda said.

"Good evening, ma'am," he replied, smiling as she ascended the stairs toward her room.


	19. Chapter 19 - Neighbors and Secrets

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

**_NEIGHBORS AND SECRETS_**

"Dinner leady!" Hop Sing shouted. "You take long time. We wait. You come table now!"

"You needn't have waited for me," Ben said as he untied his gun belt from his thigh, unbuckled it, and placed it next to the other three on the credenza.

"No problem, Pa," Joe said as he, Adam, and Candy took their seats at the dining table. "How is the widow Landry?"

Ben stepped toward the kitchen. "Poor thing! She's grateful, of course, for all of the offers of food and clothing. She and her boys are staying with the Jergensens until the house can be rebuilt." Ben continued to the kitchen to wash up, shouting as he did. "She's worried about those boys. They're ten and eleven now, and they've already begun giving her some cause for concern with their staying away from the house and not letting her know where they were going or where they've been. The older boy, Bo, has had a few fights with the other boys at school, and the younger one, Matt, thinks it's his place to tell his mother what to do." Ben dried his hands and returned to the dining table. "She's going to have a rough time with those two if they don't get some firm guidance."

"I seem to recall hearing that Bo has always done well in school," Adam said as he passed a bowl of potatoes to Candy.

"Yes, I believe he has," Ben answered.

"Well, since I'm drawing up the plans for the new barn," Adam said, "why don't I run them by him before we begin? Let him have some say in the new design? And then he can help with the building."

Ben took a slice of bread from the plate Joe held out to him, nodding his thanks. "That's a wonderful idea, Adam. You know Asa and I were good friends for many years, but that man sure did like things done his way and his way only! I'm sure those boys would appreciate having someone take an interest in their ideas and dreams."

"You said they didn't have much stock, and that most of them were still missing after the fire," Candy said as he slipped his napkin onto his thigh.

"That's right," Ben replied.

"Well, Mr. Cartwright, if you can spare us, how 'bout if Joe and I take Matt out and see how many of them we can round up," Candy suggested.

"I'm in!" Joe added.

"That's another fine idea, Candy!" Ben said, smiling at his sons and his foreman. "We've got so many volunteers coming to work on the house and the barn that we're liable to be tripping over one another!" Ben said. "And giving the boys some time apart might help, too. Emma says they're in cahoots!"

Joe smiled at Adam. "Really? I can't imagine brothers joining forces to cause trouble!"

Ben's fork stopped midway to his mouth. "Oh, I'm sure you can't!"

The street lamp outside flickered in the night breeze, casting sinister shadows that danced across the ceiling of her room. Though the wind wafting through the open window still carried the warmth of an August night, Amanda shivered and pulled the quilt to her chin. The clatter from the saloons had long since quieted, and even though she'd been lying in bed for nearly two hours, sleep continued to elude her. She tried to stop thinking of the next few days in Virginia City and the more she tried, the more she failed. Questions, doubts, and traces of her grief crept from deep within. _You've come this far, Amanda. It has to be done. You owe it to everyone concerned, and most of all, you owe it to her! _For the next hour, Amanda tossed and turned and finally, she sat up on the edge of the bed and lit the oil lamp on the bedside table. Twisting her neck to loosen the tension mounting there, she stretched and looked around the room, its furnishings seeming cozier in the lamp light than they had appeared earlier in the daylight. Her eyes traveled to the stack of three suitcases in the corner of the room and as she stared at the middle bag, her heart skipped a beat. She rose, slipped into her soft, green robe and warm, beige slippers, and walked to the pile of luggage. She removed the middle case and carried it back to her bed. It had been emptied of most of its contents earlier that day and when she opened it, she hesitated before reaching into the pouch sewn into the side. With a smile, Amanda removed a small, leather-covered book, an inkwell, and a pen. She reclined next to the suitcase, opened the journal and began to write. _I carry it with me always. Each night, before I sleep, I hold it in my hand, admiring the care and thought that went into it. And every morning, the first thing I do is run my fingers around its smooth edges and let the memories wash over me. And then I put it back where it belongs: next to my heart. And now . . . now that I'm so close . . . I find myself distracted because I must keep it hidden. I want so badly to share it with everyone, even strangers in the street! Old friends and new! And especially, I want to share it with . . . But I must be strong. I won't be the cause of further hurt for anyone. That much, I promise._

Amanda blew lightly across the page and watched as the edges of the letters faded deeper into the paper. She closed the journal and tied its strings securely before placing it inside the pouch in the suitcase. She slid the case to the floor and slowly turned down the lamp. The quilt and sheets were cooler now, and as she climbed beneath them, she hugged herself, her right hand lingering against her chest, and then, Amanda Findley closed her eyes and slept.


	20. Chapter 20 - Business As Usual

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

**_BUSINESS AS USUAL_**

"Mista Caltlite be back in time for lunch?" Hop Sing asked as he poured Ben's second cup of morning coffee.

"Yes, Hop Sing, I'm counting on it!" Ben replied. "These Cattlemen's Association meetings are necessary, but several of the members can become quite long-winded!"

"Mista Caltlite be sure hold on to hat so hat not get blown away!" Hop Sing returned to the kitchen chuckling at his joke.

"He's in rare form this morning!" Adam said, grinning at his father. "Maybe you should hand over your proxy and send him to the meeting instead!"

Ben laughed. "Now that would be a meeting I wouldn't want to miss!"

"Joe and Candy already up and about?" Adam asked as he helped himself to more bacon.

"Mm hmm," Ben replied, sipping his steaming coffee. "They rode out to Crow's Point to look for Emma Landry's stock."

"I thought they were going to take Matt out tomorrow," Adam said.

"Yes, yes, that's still the plan," Ben replied, spooning scrambled eggs onto his plate. "You know how dangerous the loose rock and sand can be around Crow's Point, and since none of us knows how well Matt can ride, well, Joe and Candy thought that it would be best to search in safer territory. So they're checking the point first on their own."

"Good idea," Adam agreed. "Come to think of it, I don't know that I've ever seen Matt on a horse!"

Ben nodded. "I know. Those two may be giving riding lessons tomorrow as well! What are you up to this morning?"

Adam wiped the strawberry jelly from the corner of his mouth. "Tray and I are going out to the north bank. He says there's a section of fence that needs replaced. Says it looks like a few of the support timbers rotted after the rough winter we had."

"Guess that leaves Hop Sing here alone, at least until I get back," Ben said as Hop Sing carried a fresh pot of coffee into the room.

"Hop Sing no be here this morning," he said as he poured two hot cups of coffee. Promise Missy Jergensen I help start cooking for many people coming to help Missy Landry tomorrow. Hop Sing leave sandwiches for lunch, not be back until dinnertime."

"All right, then," Ben said, "looks like no one will be home this morning! And if I don't get moving, I'll be late to the meeting!"

Adam watched his father gather his gun and his hat. "I guess I'll see you at dinner," Adam said. He turned in his chair and added, "Enjoy the meeting!"

"Hmff!" Ben responded as he left the house and headed toward the barn.

It was eight o'clock, and Amanda was waiting in the morning sunshine when the teller of the Smithton Bank and Trust unlocked the double doors and flipped the sign in the window. She hesitated appropriately, not wanting to storm the bank the moment they opened for business.

Earlier that morning, once she'd added a journal entry, Amanda had slept well, and after being the first guest in the restaurant that morning, she found herself out and about and ready for the days' business before many of the business owners themselves. She'd already been to the livery where she'd requested a buggy and a driver for later that morning, and while she waited outside the bank, her thoughts drifted to her plans for the remainder of the day.

"Morning, miss," a tall, elderly man said as he tipped his hat, opened the door, and offered her entrance.

Amanda smiled, nodded, and stepped into the bank. The teller, a young man with already-thinning hair, raised his eyes from his cash drawer and smiled.

"May I help you, miss?" he asked.

"I would like to open what will be a short term account," Amanda replied. "And it's 'ma'am'."

"Oh, yes, ma'am," he said. "You'll need to speak with Mr. Barnes. He's the bank president, and he should be out in just a few moments. I'll tell him you're here." The teller opened a small door and spoke softly to someone in the back room. "Mr. Barnes will be right with you, ma'am. Please, have a seat."

Amanda seated herself in the waiting area near Mr. Barnes' desk. From inside her bag, she removed a draft issued by her bank in San Francisco. Although she'd check the draft several times, she read over it once again, making sure all was in order. Mr. Barnes appeared in front of her as she read the draft and when he cleared his throat politely, Amanda startled and dropped the thin piece of paper.

"Oh, forgive me, ma'am," Mr. Barnes said as he bent to pick up the draft, "I didn't mean to frighten you!"

"No, I should apologize," Amanda said, accepting the paper. "I was lost in thought. My name is Amanda Findley."

"And I am Wilfred Barnes, president of the Smithton Bank and Trust," he replied. "How may I be of service today, Mrs. Findley?" he said as he ushered her to seat at his desk.

"I would like to open a short-term account so that I may have funds during my visit to Virginia City," she explained.

"And will Mr. Findley be a signature holder on this account?" Mr. Barnes asked.

"No!" Amanda said sharply, her face softening at the banker's expression. "Mr. Findley will not be joining me on this visit."

Looking at the draft, Mr. Barnes' eyes widened. "Let me get the necessary forms, Mrs. Findley, and we'll have you set up in no time at all."

Mr. Barnes returned quickly, carrying a ledger and two pieces of paper. "Now, if you would be so kind as to enter the information requested on this form, here and here, and on this one, here, and . . . there, I will see to your draft."

Amanda watched him disappear into his back room before picking up the pen and dipping it into the inkwell. She completed the forms and once he'd returned as witness, she added her signature to both.

Mr. Barnes reviewed the forms and added his mark. "Everything is in order, Mrs. Findley. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thank you," Amanda replied, her mind already on the buggy ride. "Good day."

Amanda left the bank, her pulse racing. As she walked to the livery, she thought of her journal entry and the promise she'd made to herself. She stopped, just before the alleyway between the general store and the livery, and closed her eyes, reciting over and over, 'you can do this, Amanda. You can do this.'


	21. Chapter 21 - The Best Laid Plans

**CHAPTER TWENTY ONE**

**_THE BEST LAID PLANS . . ._**

"Mrs. Findley," Abner Smith said politely, "this here is Clint Mason. He's lived 'round these parts fer quite a spell, 'n' he'll take ya anywheres you might wanna go."

"Thank you, Mr. Smith," Amanda said. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Mason."

"Ma'am," Clint said, tipping his hat nervously. He offered his hand, and Amanda climbed gracefully into the back seat of the buggy.

"Now, you mind me!" Abner said with a firm tone. "You take real good care, Clint! You're drivin' a fine young lady, not one o' your young fillies that yer always tryin' ta impress!"

"Aw, Uncle Abner!" Clint replied, blushing. "I'll pay a mind ta be real careful."

Amanda smiled behind her handkerchief. She'd liked Abner Smith the moment she met him, and his nephew seemed like a nice young man. As Abner whispered last minute instructions to his anxious nephew, she fiddled with her bag, trying not to eavesdrop on their conversation. Clint climbed into the front buggy seat and with one final glance at his uncle, he asked, "Where to, ma'am?"

Amanda felt her throat closing as reality released a wave of nausea to her system. She detested lying, to stranger or friends alike. But she thought of her journal and the gift she carried with her, and the lie floated from her lips. "I'd like to have a look around, Mr. Mason. You see, I'm considering a permanent move to Virginia City, and I'd prefer to see some of the country before I make my decision. And so," she added, "let's begin the tour by heading south."

"Yes, ma'am," Clint said.

"If you're headin' south," Abner shouted as the buggy started down the road. "Ya might wanna be sure ta have Clint here take ya by the Ponderosa. It's a real nice place."

Amanda shuddered as she felt her skin crawling. She swallowed, the taste of bile rising in her throat, and she heard nothing else that Abner Smith had to say.

They'd ridden for nearly three hours, passing by two small, charming ranches and across one long stretch of unclaimed land. Amanda twisted in her seat as they passed a mother jackrabbit and her two babies. She'd always been more at ease in the wide, open expanses that surrounded the bustling city of San Francisco, and the buggy ride brought memories of her childhood. Shortly after her mother had been killed in the stage accident, her father had given up his law practice to spend more time with his grieving daughter. He purchased a cattle ranch north of the city, and Amanda thrived as together, she and her father learned the ins and outs of running a successful ranch. And successful it was, growing over the past sixteen years into what was considered the fourth largest ranch in the San Francisco area.

"Ma'am," Clint said, "the turnoff for the Ponderosa is just up ahead. Would you like to see that one, too?"

Once again, Amanda felt a rush to her head. _If you can't even hear that word, how are you going to do what has to be done? _She laid her hand above her left breast and closed her eyes. _It's a simple word, Amanda. Yes. That's all you have to say! _She took a deep breath. "Yes, Mr. Mason," she replied in a voice much stronger than she'd expected. "Yes, I would. And I would like to pay a visit to the owner, so if you would, please drive to the main house."

"Yes, ma'am," Clint replied, excitement in his tone. Though he knew the way to the house, he'd never actually seen it up close, and he found himself eager for the moment he would return to the livery to share what he had yet to see.

"Oh, and Mr. Mason," Amanda added, "please, let me know when we are on the Ponderosa."

"Ma'am," he said," we'll be on the ranch just as soon as I make that curve up ahead."

Amanda sat forward in the seat, holding fast to the rail as she stared at the bend in the road. Suddenly flushed, Amanda pulled her fan from her bag. As the buggy turned onto the path, her fingertips dug into the leather covering the seat. Her knuckles, white with stress, ached until she released her grip. Though she knew it wasn't possible, the trees on either side of the buggy, whether majestic or modest, appeared greener; the scattered clumps of wildflowers more colorful; the rocks and boulders that dotted the landscape more purposeful; and the warm, pine-scented wind caressing her face more tender. She fanned herself furiously, her pulse racing as her mind wandered to stories she'd been told of the ranch and its vast beauty, and the further they traveled down the road to the house, the more she relaxed, taking in the sights of splendor. The buggy rolled easily across the terrain, and with every spin of the wheels, Amanda sensed her heart falling more deeply in love with the Ponderosa.

"Ma'am," Mr. Mason shouted, "you're gonna wanna see this!"

Amanda straightened again, looking straight ahead, and gasped as the buggy crested a simple knoll. The driver reined the mare to a stop as Amanda nearly climbed from the moving rig.

"Ma'am?" he asked, standing to help her from the buggy.

"It's all right," she whispered as her feet touched the road. "Wait here."

Amanda felt herself float forward, and she wondered if walking toward a spectacle so majestic might be considered a sacrilege. Her eyes panned from left to right, and though her right hand went again to her heart, she felt as if she could touch the tops of the towering pines. And in the center of those heaven-kissed pines lay the water of Lake Tahoe. The noon day sun cast a spell on the lake, breathing endless life into its surface as it sparkled and gleamed. A gentle breeze snaked through the trees, celebrating its freedom as it burst across the surface of the water, rippling the sparkle and gleam into currents that twisted and curled. _You were right! It is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen! _Amanda stepped forward, the lake and mountains calling out her name. A thick, puffy white cloud crossed the sun, and the water's recital changed. The shimmer brightened, its white twinkle suddenly transforming to the most amazing shade of crystal blue. Amanda's pulse raced, and without warning, her vision clouded, turning first to gray, and then quickly to black.

"Ma'am!" Mr. Mason screamed, dashing toward the limp figure lying on the ground. "Mrs. Findley!"

He dove to the ground beside her, lifting her hand in his. He tapped lightly on her delicate hand. "Mrs. Findley! Mrs. Findley, please! Open your eyes!" He slid his hands beneath Amanda, and carefully lifted her into his arms. He laid her across the back seat of the buggy, calling her name over and over as he did. Reins in hand, he flicked them against the mare and the buggy started to move. Looking over his shoulder, he feared she might fall from the seat, so he slowed the mare to a trot and started down the road to the Ponderosa. Five minutes had passed since she'd collapsed, and as Mr. Mason pulled into the yard at the house, he shouted for help. "Mr. Cartwright! Mr. Cartwright! Anyone! Please, help!"


	22. Chapter 22 - Too Late To Reconsder

**CHAPTER TWENTY TWO**

**_TOO LATE TO RECONSIDER_**

From his bedroom, Ben heard the shrill cries coming from the yard of the Ponderosa. He'd just returned home from his early meeting in Virginia City and, after seeing to Buck, he'd gone upstairs in search of the book he'd been hoping to finish for the past two weeks. He dropped the book onto the bedside table and hurried down the stairs and out into the yard.

"HELP! IS ANYONE HOME?"

"CLINT?" Ben shouted as he ran from the house. "What's wrong, son? Are you hur . . .?" It was then that Ben saw the prone figure of a woman lying across the back seat of the buggy. "Let's get her into the house," he said as he guided her into Clint's waiting arms. "What happened?"

"I don't know, sir," Clint said. "One minute, she was standing there, and the next, she was flat on the ground!"

"Bring her in here," Ben said, leading him to the downstairs guest room. He grabbed the quilt from the back of the chair and gently covered Amanda. Lifting her wrist, he checked for her pulse and exhaled the breath he'd been holding when he felt a thumping beneath his fingers.

"Clint," Ben said, "go out to the barn, saddle a horse, and fetch Doctor Martin."

"Yes, sir," Clint replied.

"And Clint," Ben added, "hurry!"

"I will, Mr. Cartwright," Clint replied as he rushed to the door.

"Clint!" Ben yelled, looking at the lovely woman lying on the bed. "What's her name?"

"Mrs. Findley," Clint shouted as he ran out the front door.

Ben felt Amanda's forehead and was relieved to find no fever. Not sure of what else to do, he quickly turned back the quilt near the foot of the bed, gently removed her boots, and covered her feet, taking care to tuck the quilt beneath them. Sitting next to the bed, he called her name, but received no response. _Maybe a cool cloth on her forehead would help. _Ben wavered, unsure if she should be left alone. He called to her again, and when there was no reaction, he rushed to the kitchen for some water and a soft cloth.

Before she opened her eyes, Amanda knew she was no longer outdoors. Even though she sensed total darkness, that void seemed to be twirling and churning, and her stomach roiled as the dizzy feeling threatened to overcome her yet again. _I was fine. A little anxious, but I was fine! There was no pain, of that I'm sure. And now . . . Oh, God, please, don't let anything happen! Not now! _She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, remembering the warmth of the sun on her face, the smell of pine, and the solid ground beneath her feet. _My feet . . . my boots! _Slowly, Amanda opened her eyes. A sudden wave of nausea rose in her stomach and she shivered, clamping her eyes shut against the swirling space. _I was looking at the lake, and . . ._ She heard footsteps, and when it was clear that they were coming closer, she forced her eyes open. _Where am I? _The footsteps stopped, and Amanda slowly turned her head. Standing in the doorway of the room was a very handsome, tall, silver-haired man. _Ben Cartwright! It has to be. I'm in the house on the Ponderosa!_

"Mrs. Findley?" he called, his deep voice resonating as he spoke. "I'm glad to see you're awake. My name is Ben Cartwright. Clint Mason brought you here after you collapsed."

As Ben walked around the bed, Amanda felt her eyes widen. _He's just as I pictured him to be! Maybe more handsome than I thought, but still, I would have known him anywhere! _

Ben placed the basin and cloth on the bedside table. "Clint's gone for the doctor." Ben dipped the cloth into the cool water and squeezed the excess from the cloth. "May, I?" he asked. "It might make you feel better."

Amanda nodded, Ben's presence unnerving her very soul. She tried to speak, but it was as if she had absolutely no control over her own voice.

Ben dabbed the cloth against her forehead, smiling down at her as he spoke in a softened tone. "I removed your boots. I thought you'd be more comfortable without them." He moistened the cloth again, and laid it against her forehead. "There, is that better, dear?"

Although Amanda intended to answer, her throat refused to cooperate and she simply nodded instead._ The room's stopped swirling. My stomach has settled some, and still, there's no pain. Maybe there's nothing wrong. Oh, please, let there be nothing wrong!_

Ben saw tears welling in her eyes. "The doctor is on his way, Mrs. Findley," Ben said, the kindness in his voice swaddling her like a father's embrace. "Please, I don't mean to pry, but can you tell me what happened?"

Amanda felt a sudden surge of strength rising from deep inside. She blinked away her tears, letting them roll freely down her cheeks, and as she tried to sit up, Ben quickly gathered several small pillows from the chair in the room and slid them behind her back.

"Thank you," Amanda said, startled by her own voice as it broke the silence in the room.

Ben smiled, his brown eyes twinkling, and Amanda's resolve melted away.

"I seem to have fainted," Amanda said. "I don't recall any pain, nor do I feel any now. It's quite possible that I simply spent too much time in the sun, and it has been awhile since I had breakfast. I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you, Mr. Cartwright." _There! I did it! I spoke to Ben Cartwright! _Amanda felt her face flush._ Oh no, I may faint again!_

Ben was on his feet before Amanda even saw him move. "I'll fix you a little something to eat," he said as he walked to the door. "I'm here alone this afternoon. Our cook . . ."

"Hop Sing," Amanda thought.

". . . Hop Sing is away for the day, but I think I can manage a sandwich and a glass of milk!" Ben stopped in the doorway. "I'll be just around the corner in the kitchen. If you need anything, just call out." He took a few steps, but returned quickly to the doorway. "Please stay in that bed, Mrs. Findley. The doctor will be here soon, and I'll be right back with some food!"

When Ben was gone, Amanda covered her face with her hands. _This is not the way it was supposed to be! I never wanted a doctor involved until I was sure I could . . . _Amanda shook her head in disbelief. Her hands slipped from her face and as they slid to her chest, she felt them over her heart. _Well, Amanda. You should be used to not always getting your way by now! So, you improvise. He's here alone for now, and once the doctor leaves, you'll tell him. And what happens next will be up to Ben Cartwright. _


	23. Chapter 23 - A Secret Shared

**CHAPTER TWENTY THREE**

**_A SECRET SHARED_**

Twice, muted clangs and dull thuds accompanied the myriad of sounds coming from the kitchen as Ben prepared food for Amanda. Each time the noise level rose, Amanda chuckled to herself as she pictured Ben scurrying about in the kitchen. Those moments of delight were pleasant intrusions on the fears that were mounting inside; fear for her health and fear of what the next few hours would mean for her future. Although part of her screamed that she should get up, hurry back to Virginia City, and book passage on the very next stage to San Francisco, she knew that those notions went against her true feelings, and when Ben appeared in the doorway carrying a tray and wearing a most sincere smile, Amanda's fears ebbed and faded yet again.

"I'm really sorry about all of the noise," Ben said, walking around to the bedside table. "I'm afraid I'm not the most efficient, nor the quietest of hosts!"

Amanda smiled up at him as she accepted a glass of milk. "Thank you, Mr. Cartwright," she said, "and I am sorry to be a bother."

"Now, I don't want to hear any more of that!" Ben scolded sweetly as he set the glass back on the tray. "Do you think you could eat a little something?"

Amanda nodded and after handing her a neatly folded napkin and a small, pink, adorned plate bearing half of a ham sandwich, Ben excused himself so she could eat without the prying eyes of a stranger. "I'll be just outside if you need anything."

"Thank you," Amanda said as she watched the impressive man leave the room.

Her stomach knotted with nerves, she managed to swallow only a few bites before she heard a rapping sound. She noticed Ben moving about outside of the room, and heard his steady footsteps followed by the squeak of a door's latch. "Paul, come in," she heard Ben say. Then another familiar voice spoke. "I'll take care of the horses, Mr. Cartwright," she heard, recognizing the voice of Clint Mason. "And I'll wait out in the barn for word. I sure do hope the lady is okay." The latch clicked into place, and Amanda quickly removed the treasure she wore tucked inside the small, hand-stitched pocket inside of her blouse. She slid the treasure beneath her pillow, quickly smoothed her blouse, and steeled herself to meet Doctor Paul Martin.

"She's just in here, in the guest room," Ben said.

Amanda swallowed, and her stomach threatened to churn once again.

"Mrs. Findley," Ben said as he and Paul entered the room, "this is Doctor Paul Martin. Paul, this is our patient. Mrs. Findley."

"Mrs. Findley," Paul said, nodding to Amanda. "If you'll excuse us, Ben?"

"Of course," Ben replied. "Call if you need anything." Ben excused himself, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Paul set his medical bag on the chair, opened it, and removed his stethoscope. He noted the small bites missing from the sandwich half and the glass of milk that appeared to be half full. Lifting her wrist, he checked her pulse and although it was more rapid than should be, he imagined that was the case for most patients who'd collapsed and woken to find themselves in a strange place. With her permission, he listened to her heartbeat, and Amanda breathed a sigh of relief that she'd had the presence of mind to remove her treasure. Clint had explained what happened, and since Amanda showed no signs of physical injury, Paul decided that a serious conversation was in order.

"Are you having any pain, Mrs. Findley?" he asked.

"No," Amanda replied, hoping to keep her answers short and to the point.

"Any dizziness?" Paul asked.

"Not anymore."

Paul watched her face closely. "Any nausea?"

"A little, but now that I've eaten, I am feeling better," Amanda said.

"Finally, a bit of information," Paul thought. "There's one question left. She's a married woman, so it shouldn't be a surprise that I'd ask."

Paul took a seat next to the bed. "Mrs. Findley," he said softly, "are you with child?"

"He knows," Amanda thought, surprised by the calmness that overcame her as she looked into the doctor's sincere, hazel eyes.

"It's all right," Paul added, sensing her hesitation. "I assure you that anything you say in this room will remain confidential."

Amanda knew she could trust this man. He was just as she'd been told: genuine and kind. She closed her eyes and wished that she could reach beneath her pillow and cling to the treasure buried beneath it. _If only I could feel it in my fingertips! Hold it against my breast, close to my heart . . ._

"Mrs. Findley," Paul said, "are you all right?"

Amanda opened her eyes, now welled with tears. "Yes, Doctor Martin," she whispered, "I am with child."


	24. Chapter 24 - Bits and Pieces

**CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR**

**_BITS AND PIECES_**

Pacing the floor while waiting for news from Paul Martin was, unfortunately, a familiar exercise for Ben Cartwright. That, coupled with his mounting curiosity over just who the attractive young woman lying in his guest room was and why she had hired a driver to show her the Ponderosa, left Ben in quite a state. Lost in thought, he hadn't heard the horses come into the yard, and when Adam came barreling through the front door, Ben jumped in surprise.

"Pa!" Adam said, worry shadowing his face. "Are you all right? Is it Joe? Candy?"

Ben reached for his worried son's shoulders. "I'm fine, and Joe and Candy aren't back yet."

"Well then, who . . ." Adam asked.

"There's a woman in the bedroom." Ben explained.

If not for the doctor's buggy in the yard, Adam would have snickered at his father's statement.

"It seems that she fainted while out for a ride not far from here and Clint Mason brought her to the house. He's out in the barn. Said he'd work with the horses while waiting for the young lady."

"Young lady? Is she going to be all right?" Adam asked, already curious about the woman.

"Paul's still in there," Ben replied. "He's been with Mrs. Findley for quite some time."

"_Mrs._ Findley!" Adam said. "I think I'll go and have a chat with Clint. Maybe he can shed some light on our mystery lady."

When Adam surprised him in the barn, Clint jerked his hand from the saddle and shoved it quickly into his trouser pocket. "Oh! Hello, Mr. Cartwright!"

Adam smiled. "It's all right, Clint," he said. "That is a nice saddle, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Clint said. "It's the finest saddle I've ever seen!"

"My brothers bought it for my father on his last birthday." Adam stroked the fine leather tooling. _Hoss wrote me that in the middle of the night, he'd found Pa sitting by the fireplace, looking over his brand new saddle. I wish I could have seen Pa's face. _Adam continued to admire the saddle as he questioned Clint about the mysterious Mrs. Findley. "Clint, what were you and Mrs. Findley doing on the Ponderosa?"

Clint flinched.

"It's all right, Clint," Adam said. "I just want to know why she wanted to see the ranch."

"Well, she arranged the buggy with Uncle Abner early this morning," Clint explained, "and she asked him if he'd get her a driver ta show her around the ranches and such. Seems she's visitin' here in Virginia City 'n' she wanted ta look around a bit before decidin' if she wants ta stay here."

"And why didn't her husband drive her?" Adam asked.

"'Cause there ain't no Mr. Findley," Clint whispered secretively. "Leastwise not here in Virginia City!"

Adam tucked his hands beneath his arms and leaned against the stall. "I see." _Could Mrs. Findley be Joe and Candy's mysterious woman from the stage?_

"Seems that when she opened herself a bank account . . ." Clint froze, aware that his gossip was flowing a bit too freely.

Adam grinned. "That's all right, Clint. Virginia City's a small . . . ish town. You were saying?"

"Well, it seems that when she opened that account, Mr. Barnes asked her about her husband 'n' she got real fidgety-like and said her husband was not with her. Oh, and she's stayin' at the International Hotel in one of them big . . . whatcha call its . . ."

"Suites?" Adam asked.

"Yeah! That's it. In one of them big suites. Seems she opened an account at the Smithton Bank just after she rented the buggy from Uncle Abner. She asked him for a driver, 'n', well, seein' as how I ain't been workin' much lately, Uncle Abner thought my ma would be glad fer me ta have a job, even though it was just fer today!"

Adam squinted impatiently as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "And then what?" he asked.

"So, Uncle Abner asked my ma," Clint continued, "'n' she said she thought she could spare me fer the morning . . ."

"I'll just bet she did," Adam thought, tugging on his ear.

" . . . 'n' so I drove the lady around to some of the smaller ranches like she asked, 'n' then I asked if she'd like ta see the Ponderosa."

Adam was suddenly intrigued. "And what did she say?"

"She said she'd like ta see the Ponderosa," Clint said. "So I turned down the road 'n' then she said she'd like ta visit at the house."

"She wanted to come to the house?" Adam repeated.

"Yeah," Clint said, shaking his head. "Now, I thought that was a might strange, Mr. Cartwright . . ."

"Me too," Adam thought.

". . . 'cause it didn't seem ta me like she knew any of you folks. Leastwise she never said she did, 'n' when we got to the knoll, the one just before the house, where you kin see the lake 'n' . . ."

"I'm familiar with the knoll," Adam said impatiently.

"Yes, sir," Clint said. "I reckon ya would be. Well, she pert near jumped outta the buggy while it was rollin'!"

"Really?" Adam said, pacing as he tried to piece the story together.

"Yes, sir," Clint replied.

"And what did Mrs. Findley do when she got out of the buggy?" Adam asked.

"Well, she just stood there!" Clint said. "I mean, she took a few steps away from the buggy and just stood there, looking at the mountain and the lake. I can't explain it good, Mr. Cartwright, but it was like she'd never seen it before and like she'd been missin' it somethin' fierce all at the same time!"

Adam continued to pace. His mind whirled with ideas and scenarios, and without due cause, his gut warned him that trouble was on the horizon.

"And then, she just fell," Clint said, clearly upset by the recent events. "I mean she really fell, right down to the ground! I tried ta get there before she hit the ground, Mr. Cartwright, honest! But it happened so dadburned fast!"

"It's all right, Clint," Adam said. "I'm sure you would have done more if you could."

"Yes, sir," Clint agreed. "So, like I told yer pa, I picked her up 'n' put her in the buggy and got to the house as quick as I could!" Clint said. "And that's when your pa sent me ta fetch the doc."

Adam stopped his pacing and leaned his back against the barn wall.

"Do you think the lady's gonna be alright?" Clint asked.

"I don't know," Adam answered. _It seems there's quite a bit we don't know about Mrs. Findley._


	25. Chapter 25 - Curiosity, part one

**CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE**

**_CURIOSITY, part one_**

"So," Candy said, shifting in his saddle, already grinning at the outcome of his lengthy story, "she walked over to the table, and when old man Archer looked up, she said . . ."

"Something's wrong!" Joe interrupted, the sight of the familiar buggy sitting in the middle of the yard knotting his stomach.

"Hey!" Candy shouted. It's my story!"

"Something is wrong!" Joe yelled, pointing down the road. "At the house!"

"Huh?" Candy stood in the stirrups. "Isn't that the doc's buggy?"

"Yeah, that's what I mean!" Joe cried. "And Sport's in the yard. Adam's back!"

Joe and Candy urged Cochise and Scout to a gallop as they covered the ground between the knoll and the yard in front of the house.

Hearing the pounding of hoofs, Adam and Clint stepped out of the barn just in time to see the riders approach.

"ADAM!" Joe yelled.

Knowing that Joe was thinking exactly what he'd thought earlier, Adam ran to Cochise to calm his brother's fears. When he got closer, he saw the worried look on Candy's face as well. "It's alright, Pa's fine," Adam assured. He waited for Joe and Candy to dismount and thanked Clint when he agreed to take care of the horses yet again.

"Adam?" Joe asked impatiently as Candy stood behind him, eager for an answer as well.

Adam calmly repeated what he knew, his version taking a third of the time of Clint's. When he'd finished the story, they went inside to find Ben seated in his burgundy chair, wringing his hands as he fretted over the condition of the woman in his guest room.

Adam glanced at the closed door. "Paul hasn't come out yet?"

Ben shook his head. "He's been in there for more than an hour now. I know the girl fainted, but she seemed fine otherwise. It's such a warm day, I assumed she'd forgotten to have some water and was overcome by the heat. She was about to have a bite to eat when Paul arrived. But with him being in there so long . . . something must be wrong."

"Pa," Adam said, leaning against the stone of the hearth, "what does Mrs. Findley look like?"

Ben thought for a moment, wondering if his sons or Candy might know the woman. "She's quite attractive . . . long, light brown hair, slender, large blue eyes . . . maybe twenty-five years old."

"Then it _is_ her!" Candy said, watching for Adam's reaction.

"Who?" Joe asked.

"The woman from the stage," Candy replied, his eyes still fixed on Adam. "The one Adam and I told you about."

"Pa's description does fit the woman we saw," Adam agreed. "Pa, did you know that she didn't just 'happen' to be riding on the Ponderosa?" Adam asked.

Ben shook his head, his eyes darkening with concern.

"The lady asked Clint to bring her to the ranch. She asked him to bring her to the house," Adam continued. "And when they got to the knoll, Clint says she jumped from the buggy while it was still rolling, ran closer to the knoll, and stared at the lake for awhile before she fainted. He said it was almost as if she'd been looking forward to the view."

"You think she's been here before, don't you Adam?" Joe asked. "Pa, did you recognize her?"

"No, Joe," Ben replied. "I didn't."

"Well, she must know someone here at the ranch," Candy said, "or why else would she ask Clint to bring her to the house?"

"Joe, are you sure you don't know a woman that fits the description?" Adam asked. "Someone from San Francisco?"

"No, Adam, I don't," Joe replied, "and if you're thinking she's a lady friend of mine, I certainly don't make it a habit to know married women!"

"Now, let's simmer down here," Ben said. "You're all ready to make this into some sort of sinister mystery when I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation as to Mrs. Findley's visit to the Ponderosa. And when Paul comes out of there, maybe we'll get some answers."

Inside the guest room, Paul saw Amanda's lips tremble and felt her legs wobble as she leaned against his arm. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" Paul asked. Although he'd assured her that she was in perfect health, he'd also cautioned her, strongly, that unnecessary tension and worry were to be avoided – two things that he knew, in light of the situation, were unavoidable now that she was in the Cartwright home.

Amanda straightened, nodded, and exhaled sharply. "Doctor Martin, I know you're against what I've asked you to help me do, but . . ."

"Amanda," Paul said, "I'm not in agreement with your decision to place yourself under such stress after what happened this afternoon. But, I do agree that they deserve to hear the entire story, from beginning to end."

The jiggling sound of the doorknob caught the attention of everyone in the living room. The guest room door opened and, arm in arm, Amanda and Paul stepped into the room.

Ben jumped immediately to his feet and paled at the sight of Paul's serious expression as he and Amanda, holding fast to Paul's arm, walked slowly to the settee.

Candy and Adam exchanged glances, their suspicions confirmed. Joe's mouth hung open a bit as the beautiful woman gingerly seated herself, with Paul's help, on the settee. Joe looked at Candy and Adam and knew from their expressions that she was indeed the woman from town.

"Paul, I'm no doctor," Ben said, "but do you think Mrs. Findley should be up and around?"

Paul sat next to Amanda. "She's fine, Ben. She'll need to take it easy for awhile, but, for now, she's all right. Everyone, please, take a seat," he added, seemingly concerned with Ben and the others in the room as well as his patient. "Amanda has something to say."

As everyone took a seat, Ben saw that Joe didn't recognize the woman, and that Candy and Adam obviously did. The tension of the unknown saturated the room as fleeting, questioning glances darted between Ben, Adam, Joe, and Candy.

Amanda's eyes locked on Candy and the man next to him. _Is that . . . It's Adam! He's home! Oh, my God! And Candy! I saw them in town yesterday! If I'd even let myself think, I would have known it was them! They're exactly as I pictured them to be! _

Paul saw the tears building in Amanda's eyes. He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. _If this isn't real, Amanda Findley, if that is her name, is the best actress I've ever seen!_

Amanda tore her gaze from Adam and Candy. The smallest hint of a smile crossed her lips when she looked at Joe, the stories she'd heard flooding her memory._ That boyish face is just as I thought! So young, but with an inner strength behind those eyes that he may not even realize exists! H_er smile slowly faded and her tears trickled onto her cheeks. _I have to do this, have to give us this chance. I hope that they forgive me . . . forgive us. Bringing humiliation to this family was the last thing we wanted, but, now . . . everything has changed, and I know what I must do. _Amanda clung tightly to the treasure in her palm. _Here goes._

"Mr. Cartwright," she said softly, her eyes meeting Ben's, "my name is Amanda Findley. And I . . . I was in love with your son, Hoss."


	26. Chapter 26 - Curiosity, part two

**CHAPTER TWENTY SIX**

**_CURIOSITY, part two_**

Ben reached awkwardly behind him as the color drained from his cheeks. Feeling for the safety of his chair, he slowly dropped down onto the familiar cushion, his hands gripping the leather of the armrests. His eyes never left the distraught young woman across the room. Before that moment, he'd considered that this woman had followed Adam back to the Ponderosa, or that she was someone known to Joe or Candy or one of the many young hands working on the ranch. But this? His mind went blank as the whispered name of his son resonated in his soul . . . _Hoss._

Amanda looked quickly at Paul, her concern for Hoss's father evident in her pleading eyes.

Paul reassured her, squeezing her hand while never taking his eyes from his longtime friend.

Determined to uphold the memory of his brother and the devoted relationship they shared, Joe's first thoughts were of blackmail or cruel, selfish fraud. _IF Hoss had had a girl, we would have known about it! He wouldn't have kept that from us . . . from me. _Joe turned to his father, and Ben's vacant expression frightened him. He looked quickly at Adam and saw his brother's face tinged with anger and acusation.

Candy stared at Amanda. He'd seen the anger on Joe's face and saw it fade to fear as Joe looked at his father. He looked over at Adam, and his glower made Candy shudder.

Adam's eyes had gone dark with suspicion. _Joe told me everything. If there'd been a woman in Hoss's life, Joe would have known and he would have told me. I know that for a fact as much as I know that the sun rises in the morning. Hoss wouldn't have kept it from us. And if this woman is lying, well, we've dealt with fortune hunters and scam artists before. But there is something . . . I think the lady has more to say. Could she know what happened to Hoss? Where his . . . where he's . . . If she knows something about Hoss's death, why not just knock at the door and tell us? And why come to Virginia City at all? Why not send a wire? Mrs. Findley. Is she married" Or a widow? Or . . . if she is married and . . . Oh, Hoss . . ._

Adam's body suddenly stiffened, and Candy moved quickly to flank him. "Lady," Candy thought, "if you hurt this family, when this is all settled, I'll personally put you on the next stage outta here!"

The faces of his father, brother, and best friend pushed Joe over the edge. "What kind of confidence scam are you running, lady?" Joe shouted. "If my brother'd been sweet on someone, I would have known about it!"

"Joseph!" Ben scolded.

Candy stepped forward. "Hoss never mentioned a girl, Mr. Cartwright!" he added. "I don't believe for one min. . ."

"That's enough, Candy!" Ben growled.

Adam recognized the look of trepidation in his father's eyes. _Pa thinks he knows something, and whatever it is, he doesn't want to further upset her. He doesn't want her shunned._ Adam studied Amanda's face. _She's frightened of something or someone. But there's more. She's ready to say things, out loud, that she's been keeping inside. And she's worried that those things will affect the way we look at her. It has to do with Hoss. And something tells me that he did indeed know this woman. _

"Let her talk," Adam said flatly.

Amanda looked up at Hoss's older brother. His eyes, poised to protect those he cared for, pierced hers like daggers thrown at close range. His shoulders, tensed and imposing, seemed to advance upon her, though he hadn't moved a step, and she felt herself gasp under his scrutiny. But even as his chest heaved and his face reddened, Amanda was sure she could make him, make them all, understand.

"I know you all must have many questions," Amanda said, her strength draining quickly. "Maybe it would be best if I told . . ."

"The truth?" Joe raged.

Amanda gasped, her hand shaking in Paul's.

"Joe!" Ben yelled.

"Joe's right, Pa," Adam said, turning his attention to Amanda. "You've upset my father, Mrs. Findley," Adam accused, "and my brother and my friend. Hoss isn't here to confirm or deny that he knew you, so I'm warning you. Start talking, and don't leave anything out."

Amanda's attempt to swallow her sobs failed, and her short gulps of air worried Paul.

"Amanda, please," Paul begged, "calm down."

"Mrs. Findley," Ben said, scooting forward in his chair, "you mustn't let yourself become so . . ."

"Please, Mr. Cartwright!" Amanda shouted as tears cascaded down her cheeks. "Adam's right! You deserve to know the truth!"

"Paul," Ben said, "maybe you should take her to lie down?"

"Don't be nice to me, Mr. Cartwright!" Amanda cried. "You have no idea what I . . . what we . . ."

"Alright," Paul said firmly, grasping her forearms and lifting her from the settee, "let me take you back to . . ."

"No!" she cried, pulling free of Paul's grip. "Don't you see? I have to tell them! They need to know!"

Once again, Paul implored her, "Please, calm down."

Amanda shook her head and leaned forward, closer to Ben's chair. "You need to know that I _am_ married, Mr. Cartwright, and that Hoss and I were very much in love and I came here to tell you that . . .


	27. Chapter 27 - A Matter of Money?

**CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN**

**_A MATTER OF MONEY?_**

"Now we're gettin' down to it!" Joe said, jumping again to his feet. "You came to tell us what? That you want us to give you money?"

"Joe!" Ben shouted. "That's enough!"

"Money to keep you quiet?" Joe yelled, ignoring his father's commands. "And if we refuse, you'll what? Spread it all over Virginia City that Hoss courted a married woman?"

"Joseph!" Ben yelled.

"I'm sorry, Pa," Joe cried, "but I'm not gonna stand here and listen to her lies about my brother . . ."

"Joe," Adam said, gripping Joe's shoulder.

Joe shrugged Adam's hand away.

"Please," Amanda cried, "if you'll just let me explain!"

Joe approached the settee. "I don't need your explan . . ."

"JOSEPH!" Ben warned, jumping to his feet and coming to stand between Amanda and his son. "Go back over there and sit down! This family has never denied anyone the right of explanation, and I will not deny it now!" Ben nearly gasped as Joe's beseeching eyes faded to those of a man clinging to the hope that his brother hadn't gone to his death with a secret that should have been shared.

Adam saw his father's determined face beginning to crumble. "Joe," Adam called softly, "please, sit back down and let her speak."

Joe nodded halfheartedly, his downcast eyes avoiding his father's stare.

As Joe lowered himself stiffly onto the edge of the blue chair's seat, Ben returned to his chair. "Please, Mrs. Findley," he said, "won't you continue? And please, start from the beginning."

"Amanda," Paul said, "do you want to go on?"

Frightened by Joe's angry reactions, and painfully aware of his father and brother's anguish, Amanda steeled herself to resume her story.

"Yes, Doctor Martin," Amanda said. "I will continue. May I have some water, please?"

Candy sprang from his chair and hurried to the kitchen, returning quickly to a room that still echoed with tense silence and harried breathing. He handed the glass to Amanda, his manners gentle, but his eyes piercing.

"Thank you," Amanda said. She took several quick sips, leaned forward, and set the glass on the table. "My father's name was Edward Thomas Spencer. He was a prominent lawyer in Philadelphia when he met my mother, Leona Griffen. They were married in 1838, and I was born two years later."

"That makes you twenty-six," Adam said quickly.

"No, Adam," Amanda replied, knowing that Adam's error was a test, "that makes me twenty-eight."

Adam saw his father's glance and nodded at Ben's approval.

"My father was the counsel for several large architecture and building firms and his work for those companies and corporations made him a very wealthy man." Amanda's eyes gleamed as she thought of her father. "He worked long, hard hours and took pride in every accomplishment, and when the opportunity arose for him to move west, he sold his office and we moved to San Francisco."

The heavy stillness in the room crowded in on Amanda. She reached for her water, sipped, and clung to the glass, staring into the swirling liquid as she picked up where she'd left off. "My father became the legal counsel for the Parker Mining Company just outside of San Francisco. He worked for the Parkers for almost eight years and during that time, he became the champion for the widows and families of miners killed in their workplaces."

"I've heard of the wonderful way that the Parkers treat their workers and the families of those workers," Ben said.

Joe waited for his father to include the name of Edward Thomas Spencer, and when Ben failed to mention having heard of the man, Joe wondered how long it would take his father to confirm Amanda's claims.

"He even managed," Amanda continued, "to convince the owners of several other mining companies to adopt the generous policies of the Parker Mining Company." Amanda suddenly grew solemn. "I remember many occasions when my parents would be called to the shantytowns and communal homes and each time, it meant there'd been a cave-in. When I was old enough to go along, I'd sit quietly in a corner just outside of a tent and listen to the wailing and crying of women and children as they were told that their loved ones wouldn't be returning from the shafts below the ground." Amanda shuddered as the sights and sounds invaded her thoughts.

Growing impatient, Adam scratched his neck and rubbed his shoulder. "I don't mean to sound heartless, but what does this have to do with Hoss?"

Amanda bristled. "My integrity is in question here, Mr. Cartwright, and I'm trying my best to give all of you a reason to believe what I'm saying. If you'll be patient just a little while longer, you'll see the connection."

Adam nodded grudgingly as Ben shifted his legs and crossed his arms.

"One evening," Amanda said, "when my father returned home, he brought with him the message that my mother's aunt was dying. The next day, she boarded the stage for Santa Rosa, leaving me to stay with my father." Amanda sipped her water, and placed the glass onto the table. "My mother was killed when the stage careened down into a valley. I was twelve years old." Amanda wrung her hands, holding her treasure tightly hidden in her palm. "My father left his position at the mines and, seeking a business that would allow him to spend more time with me, purchased a ranch on the outskirts of the city. He named the ranch The Lucky A."

Ben's eyes darted about the room. "I know of The Lucky A," Ben said softly, "but not of its owners. I believe it's been referred to as the fourth largest ranch in California."

"That's right, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said, noting the effect that this information had on Adam, Joe, and Candy. _They're coming around, slowly, but will it be enough for them to forgive everything else. _"My father built The Lucky A into the success it was until the day he died just three years ago. And since that day, I've been running the ranch. So you see, Joe," Amanda said, glaring at Hoss's little brother, "I don't need Cartwright charity or Cartwright money. I have more than enough of my own."


	28. Chapter 28 - Private Moments Shared

**CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT**

**_PRIVATE MOMENTS SHARED_**

Joe lowered his eyes, more from his father's reprimanding glance than from Amanda's penetrating glare.

Amanda started for her glass. Paul gently stayed her with his hand, grabbed the glass, and placed it into her waiting grasp. After swallowing the last of the water, Amanda inhaled deeply, discretely caressed her treasure, and nodded, ready to carry on. "Hoss had been making frequent trips to San Francisco, dealing with the contracts for the shoring lumber at the Parker Mines."

Adam threw a questioning look at his father, who nodded affirmatively.

"One evening, in November of last year," Amanda said, "on what Hoss said was his second trip there, I was dining alone at the Excelsior after a business meeting and as I glanced around the tables, hoping to summon my waitress, I saw a man who was also dining alone, and I'm ashamed to admit that for some reason, I found myself staring at him."

Amanda's voice softened, and Ben watched her face brighten, her eyes glisten, and her lips quiver.

"After a few moments, he happened to look up and, well, as cliché as it sounds, our eyes met, and I blushed and looked away. After a while, I couldn't resist the temptation to look again, and that time, I caught him watching me!"

Amanda smiled warmly as she blushed and for a brief moment, Adam's suspicions faded.

"He finished his meal before I did," Amanda continued, "although later, he accused me of eating slowly so that I'd still be seated when he was through." Amanda's smile brightened. "He said he was glad I'd eaten slowly because he might not have worked up the courage to follow me from the restaurant. As he put it, "talkin' ta pretty gals don't come easy ta me."

"Don't you dare make fun of my brother!" Joe yelled, leaping from his chair and stepping toward Amanda.

Candy grabbed Joe's arm, pulling him back as Adam flanked Joe on the other side.

"JOSEPH!" Ben shouted. "Sit down! Now!"

"I would never make fun of . . ." Amanda covered her mouth with her hand as tears poured down her cheeks.

Joe shook Candy's arm away, glared at Adam, and sat down as far from Amanda as was possible.

"I expected Joe to react this way," Amanda thought. "Hoss told me so many times that they were so close that he wasn't sure where one ended and the other began. But it's still hard, having someone Hoss loved think that I would . . ."

Paul searched the faces in the room and, fearing for Amanda's well being, suggested softly, "Amanda, maybe you should tell . . ."

"I'm alright," Amanda interrupted, gathering herself with several long, deep breaths. "I'm alright. Hoss walked me from the Excelsior to my hotel that evening, and we sat talking together in the lobby until midnight. Before he left, he said he was leaving San Francisco in the morning, but that he'd be back in three weeks to sign a contract he'd been negotiating. I thanked him for keeping me company and then, he was gone," Amanda said.

Remembering all too well how easily Hoss's heart could be broken, Candy shook his head and asked the question searing everyone's lips. "So you spent the evening talking. Did you bother to tell him that you're married?"

Amanda glared at him. "Yes, Candy, I did!"

Her candor did nothing to sway Candy's opinion of the situation. "I see you know my name. So far, everything you've said could easily have been discovered by a few simple inquiries around town!"

"Yes, Candy," Amanda said, his accusations stinging her heart. "I could have asked around, learned the Cartwright names and that of their foreman." Amanda's voice grew in anger. "I could have found out about the lumber deal and made all of the rest up in my mind!"

"Amanda, please," Paul said, "calm down."

"I'm fine, Doctor Martin, just fine," Amanda spat, immediately turning her attention back to Candy. "If you think all of this has been a lie, then maybe you can tell me who in town could have told me that you once found Hoss crying in the barn when the pony he'd given to Margie Owens' daughter had to be put down? Who else but Hoss would have told me about that day and how you promised never to tell a soul he'd been crying and thinking about Margie and the life they could have had together?"

Candy was dumbfounded. He'd never breathed a word of how Hoss had grieved over that pony, or the way Hoss had twisted Candy's heart with his confessions of grief.

"And Joe," Amanda said, turning to face the hearth where Joe sat ready to pounce on the slightest misbegotten detail, "I would have recognized you anywhere! And before you doubt me any more than you already do, who but Hoss would have told me that one night, during John Faraday's race for governor and the plan to find Samuel Endicott's hired killer, you told Hoss you didn't know if you could keep up the charade because reading the obituaries and answering the questions about your father's supposed murder made the prospect of being without him far too real for you to bear? That you'd come close to ruining the entire plan because you couldn't cope with seeing Roy grieving for a friend who wasn't dead?"

Joe looked at his father, and Amanda saw the same love she'd seen in Hoss's eyes each time he spoke of his family.

"And Adam," Amanda said, bracing herself to speak to the Cartwright that she thought would be the most difficult one to convince, "I did not expect to find you here on the Ponderosa. Hoss would be so happy that you're home. Over the months that I knew him, Hoss told me so many stories about his older brother: how sometimes, when you were young boys, you would let him sneak into your bed at night and how the two of you would talk until the wee hours of the morning, and how you would find ways to keep him from getting scolded by helping him explain or hide his fatigue the next day. He told me how you stood beside him when he was teased at school, and how you always let him try to settle things before you stepped in, and he told me how proud you seemed whenever he avoided a fight, and how proud he was of himself in return." Amanda's voice caught in her throat as she pictured Hoss as a young boy, beaming with pride because his brother was so proud of him. "And he said that without you, he would have lost his soul and buried his heart at the hands of Regan Miller."

Adam, standing motionless as he leaned against the hearth, lowered his head, the sting of Hoss's fist against his jaw a vivid memory.

Ben remembered the night when Hoss had seen his fiancé kissing Adam and the endless months of healing after Regan left Virginia City, and he knew that for Hoss to have shared this most difficult time in his life with Amanda, she must have held a special place in Hoss's heart.

Amanda coughed, her throat parched by her nerves.

"I'll get some more water," Joe said, speeding to the kitchen more as a retreat than a helpful gesture.

The silence in the room made everyone squirm and, once again, Amanda felt the need to run for the front door.

Much to her relief, Joe returned quickly, but when he sat the glass firmly on the table instead of handing it to her, Amanda knew she still had her work cut out for her. _If this much was difficult for them to accept, how will I convince them of the rest? _Amanda started for the glass, but Paul swiped it from the table and offered it to her waiting hand. She looked into the glass as she sipped, avoiding the impatient stares coming from everyone in the room.

"Maybe you should rest awhile, Mrs. Findley," Paul suggested.

The moment Paul used her full name, Amanda knew it would spark yet another set of accusations.

"Alright," Joe said as he ran his fingers through his hair and paced in a tiny circle. "So, you knew my brother and he liked you enough to tell you a little about his family . . ."

"Joe," Candy interrupted, "she knows more than a little. She knows things that no one else could!"

"I don't care what she knows," Joe yelled, "I still don't believe she was Hoss's girl! She probably befriended him, got him to trust her! You know Hoss, he's got . . . he had faith in everybody he ever met! And I can't stand here and . . ."

"Sit down, Joseph," Ben said calmly.

"But, Pa!" he cried. "You don't actually . . ."

"I said sit down. I don't know what I believe, but I do know that there is more to this than we know. Am I right, Mrs. Findley?"

Amanda shivered. _He knows. Or at least, he suspects. Oh, Hoss, I can already see the pain in his eyes. I'm so sorry! _"Yes, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said. "There's more."

"You don't have to say anything more if you feel you need to rest," Paul insisted.

"I'm fine, Doctor Martin," Amanda assured, "and I want to continue. I swear that I did tell Hoss that first night that I am married. And in the five hours that we sat together in my hotel lobby, I also told him that I had requested a divorce from my husband, and that he, Jackson Findley, was in San Quinton Prison, serving his sentence of ten years for hiring a man to murder his own father."

Ben saw the shame on Amanda's face, and as much as he wanted the day to begin anew and the outcome to revert to a typical day on his beloved ranch, he somehow knew that Amanda was speaking the truth, and that the truth yet to come would change things forever.

"Keep talking," Adam said coldly. "I want to hear it all."

The detachment in his voice chilled Amanda to her core, but once again, she assured herself that he was protecting his family; that he was still protecting Hoss. "I met my husband at a cattle auction in Utah," Amanda said. "He managed to charm me into having dinner with him after the auction and, as I came to learn after his arrest, while we ate and talked, two of his men broke into my hotel room and went through the papers I had in my suitcase."

"What kind of papers?" Candy asked.

Hearing no accusation in Candy's tone, Amanda spoke directly to him. "Papers that revealed most of my holdings which were, and by the grace of God still are, substantial. As soon as those men were finished in my room, they went to their hotel to wait for Jackson and before the morning after we'd just met, Jackson Findley knew all about my inheritance and he set his sights on stealing every last penny of it!"

"He married you for your money," Joe said, his tone void of compassion. "And you went running to my brother because you made the wrong decision when you married a murderer!"

Amanda glared at Joe, clearly insulted by his implication. "I knew Jackson Findley for six months before we married. I'm ashamed to admit that I loved him, or at least, I thought I did. I cared deeply for his father, Charles, and I was married to Jackson for nine hours when the sheriff came to the door with the news that Charles had been found dead," Amanda said, her tears returning as her hand clung to the treasure inside. "He'd been shot twice in the chest and left to bleed to death at his home. And after just six days of grieving and the funeral that brought scores of people who considered Charles to be a beloved friend, Jackson was arrested for hiring the man who'd killed his father." Amanda, clearly shaken, raised her handkerchief to her face.

Joe dropped his head, his emotions jumbled. He took a seat on the hearth, avoiding Amanda's gaze.

"Jackson never denied what he'd done, his greed much larger than any tiny amount of love he might have had for his father or for me. In fact, I know now that he's incapable of love of any kind. You see, his father was wealthy, but that wealth wasn't enough for Jackson. He knew I'd be at that cattle auction, and he came prepared to meet me, court me, and eventually, to walk away with not only his father's fortune, but mine as well."

Adam softened, remembering how greed had ruined the lives of people he'd cared for and taken the lives of so many others.

Paul reached again for Amanda's hand. "I think that's enough for now, Mrs. Findley," he said. "You should rest."

Amanda turned her troubled eyes to Paul. "I want to finish, Doctor Martin. Please, let me go on."

Ben watched Paul's reluctance. _He knows the whole story. And he's worried about what's yet to come. _

"Jackson was brought to trial and, along with the man who pulled the trigger, was found guilty. The killer was . . . he was hanged. And Jackson, who came up with the idea, hired a killer, and then danced with me at our wedding . . ."

"Amanda," Paul said, reaching for her wrist.

Amanda pulled her arm away as her lips trembled and her voice wavered. "He danced with me while his father was being murdered! He . . . he talked of love and our life together, our future and our happiness! All of this while his father lay dying on the cold, hard floor!"

"Amanda, I must insist . . ." Paul said, looking for support from Ben and the others.

"No, doctor," Amanda cried. "I'll get hold of myself, I promise."

"Mrs. Findley," Ben said, his voice kind, yet not fully at ease. "Maybe you should heed Doctor Martin's advice. Maybe a rest would . . ."

"No, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said. "I do appreciate your concern, but I came here to tell you about Hoss and me, and I won't stop now. You see, when Jackson was convicted, he was sentenced to ten years in prison. Ten years for hiring the man who took the life of his own father, and even though he didn't pull the trigger himself, I consider him a murderer."

Candy nodded, and when no one disagreed with her opinion of Jackson, she continued. "In January of last year, I requested a legal divorce from Jackson. My good friend and trusted attorney, Randall Binghamton, went with me to the prison. All Jackson had to do was sign the papers. A signature. That's all and I would have been free," Amanda said, rubbing the cloth-wrapped treasure between her fingertips.

"He didn't sign," Adam said, moving to the blue chair and lowering himself gently against its cushion.

"No," Amanda cried, "he didn't. And ever since that day, Randall and I have been writing to and visiting judges and officials and even senators trying to find a way to keep Jackson in prison, or at least to stop him from serving his time and then coming back and destroying everything I have, including me."

"There must be a judge in California who would help," Joe said, his temper flaring again. "Maybe you aren't trying hard enough!"

Candy wagged his head. "Aw, c'mon Joe," he said.

"Maybe," Joe yelled, "she wanted Hoss's money so she and this Jackson would have three fortunes to squander when he gets outta prison!"

Amanda felt heat rising to her face and she pushed Paul's hand away, her eyes glaring at Joe. She stood on suddenly strong legs, walked from the settee to the fireplace where Joe sat returning her glare. He started to stand when Amanda drew her hand back and slapped his left cheek.


	29. Chapter 29 - Anger and Understanding

**CHAPTER TWENTY NINE**

**_ANGER AND UNDERSTANDING_**

"Don't you ever again imply that I would hurt your brother!

Joe was on his feet, and so then were the other men in the room.

"Amanda," Paul called out, reaching for her shoulder.

"Joseph!" Ben yelled. "No more!"

"C'mon, Joe," Candy said, "sit down."

Joe," Adam said as he stepped between Amanda and his brother. "She's a woman, Joe! Just walk away."

Amanda began to shake. Her eyes quickly welled and her legs threatened to bend. Her right hand still stung from the blow to Joe's face, and when she felt Paul's hands on her shoulders, she nearly dropped the treasure still clutched safely in her left hand.

Paul turned her and led her toward the guest room door.

"Don't tell me you're all buying into her story?" Joe shouted, pushing past Adam.

"Joe," Adam shouted coldly.

Joe stopped and spun around to face his brother.

"Sit down," Adam said, "now!"

Amanda pulled her arm from Paul's grip. "I didn't come here to cause trouble," she cried, "and I never wanted to pit brother against brother! Over the last year, I've sought help from everyone I could think of, but Jackson and his friends kept buying them off and issuing threats. Jackson even had something on the warden at the prison, and now there's talk that Jackson may be pardoned! And none of that mattered. None of it!" she shouted. "Because every time Hoss returned to San Francisco, he'd work on the lumber agreement and visit the camps, and as soon as he finished, he'd come to me! And we were happy and in love. And we made promises and shared dreams and we walked along the rivers and picnicked under the trees and the blue skies and we went riding on my ranch and . . . and he promised we'd find a way to deal with Jackson and we'd be together, always, and . . . and on May twenty-second, I read the newspaper, and the headlines . . . and they said Hoss had drowned. Hoss was . . . dead."

"Amanda!" Paul said, reaching for her as she staggered, only to be pushed away again.

"And I tried, I tried so hard, she shouted. "I grieved alone. For three months, I mourned by myself. And I mourned for you, all of you. I knew that anyone who meant so much to Hoss must have been suffering! And then word came that Jackson paid a judge to release him early. It hasn't happened yet, but I know it will. Whatever Jackson wants, he's always gotten! And I need help to stop him!" Amanda doubled over, sobbing as she shook.

Paul wrapped his arms around her, fearful that she would crumble to the floor.

Candy looked away, thinking of Hoss and how happy he would have been to have someone who loved him as much as he could love in return.

Adam sensed that there was more to be told, and his heart couldn't help but feel for the distraught woman in the room.

Confused by his mind's doubts and suspicions and his heart's empty aching, Joe resisted the urge to run to the barn, saddle Cochise, and ride as far from the house as he could.

Ben reached for Amanda's hand and as he closed his around hers, she stared at the calloused, tender fingers entwined with her own. _He deserves the right to choose. They all do. If they want me to leave, I will. But they have to know everything._

"Jackson will not win this time," she cried, renewed strength in her voice and her stance. She spoke to Ben, Adam, Joe, and Candy, but it was Ben who garnered her full attention. "Hoss courted and fell in love with a married woman. He wanted you to know, but I disagreed. I feared it would cause you embarrassment and shame, and I feared the same for him. So while I kept trying, searching for some official that Jackson couldn't touch with his influence and his threats, Hoss assured me that somehow, I would have my divorce. We knew that if Jackson were to get a pardon, he'd come for me, and he would use any means against us, and possibly, against any or all of you." Amanda laughed, a small, brief chuckle of remembrance. "Hoss said that you'd all take on anything Jackson could bring against you, and I see now that I was wrong to doubt that. Hoss was right, but I didn't understand then, and I begged him not to tell you just yet, and he agreed. And then, he was gone." Amanda moved to the settee, and Ben and Paul moved along with her, steadying her as she walked. But when she reached it, she turned instead to face Ben. "Mr. Cartwright," she whispered, "I loved Hoss. I still do and always will. I wouldn't have come here . . . wouldn't have put you through any of this . . ."

Adam said, aloud, the words they were all silently thinking. "Then why are you here?"

Amanda's heart raced. She felt a gentle squeeze against her fingers and when her eyes met Ben's, a calming cascade of tranquility washed over her. She felt his soul begging for an answer and hers, in return, longed to respond. "I'm here because I'm carrying Hoss's child."


	30. Chapter 30 - In Truth There Lies Trust

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

**_IN TRUTH THERE LIES TRUST_**

Paul looked at the faces in the room. When he glanced at Amanda, though she seemed the most collected of them all, he worried at the sight of her pulse beating visibly in her neck. "Amanda," he said, "this time I'm not taking no for an answer. You will sit down. Now."

Amanda nodded to Paul and promptly sat on the settee.

Paul turned to Ben, his pale, drawn face and happy, twinkling eyes such a contradiction that he worried for his friend. "Ben," Paul said, "you'd best sit down, too."

Ben backed away and sat in his chair, never taking his eyes from Amanda.

"Before anyone asks," Amanda said, "I can't prove that it's Hoss's child. You all know that no such proof can exist so all I can do is answer your questions truthfully, and swear to you all that the child growing inside of me belongs to Hoss. All I have is my word . . ." Amanda hesitated, opened her hand, and unfolded the bit of cloth, ". . . and this." From her palm, Amanda lifted a golden, band ring. "Hoss gave me this on February sixteenth," she whispered, her eyes gleaming as she coveted the ring. "He called it 'our wedding day, kinda'!" She chuckled as she looked lovingly at the ring between her fingers. Her eyes met Ben's and she offered him the ring.

Holding it in the air, he looked from Amanda to the thick, gold band.

"There's an inscription," Amanda said, her voice trembling. "Would you read it, Mr. Cartwright? Please?"

Ben held the ring closer and as he examined the inside, he turned it full-circle.

Adam watched his father's eyes fill with tears as the ring completed its revolution. "What's it say, Pa?" he asked.

"Amanda, jag älskar dig," Ben said, the words rolling off his tongue as easily as if he'd said them every day of his life. His chin shook and his vision clouded. He looked up and met Amanda's blue eyes, eyes overflowing with love.

Over the years, Ben had seen Hoss champion the underdog more times than he could count. Hoss had put his reputation on the line, gone against the majority, and, for some of those men and women, he'd gone so far as to risk his life. He'd fallen in love with a few: some who deliberately used his heart for their own gain, some who were truly in need of the companionship that Hoss's honest heart could not supply, and two who loved his son for the wonderful man that he was. He looked again at the ring and then at Amanda's telling eyes and the raw emotion that filled them with simultaneous joy and sorrow. And Ben believed everything he'd heard from the woman who had won Hoss's heart for the final time.

Seeing the turbulence in his father's face, Joe asked tenderly, "Pa, what's it mean?"

Before Ben could answer, Adam said softly, "It means, 'Amanda, I love you'. Jag älskar dig. 'I love you', in Swedish. Inger taught me, and when Hoss was learning to talk, I taught him."

Ben held the ring out to Amanda. She took it, wrapped it in its cloth, and slid it safely into her skirt pocket. He waited for her eyes to once again meet his, and when they did, he took a deep breath. _Hoss's child._

Her lips quivered as she saw glimpses of Hoss on his father's face; eyes overflowing with compassion and loss; a brow furrowed in concern and heartache.

Ben took her by her upper arms and pulled her against his chest. She melted against him and when his strong arms closed across her back, she sobbed, whispering Hoss's name over and over.

"Shh," Ben whispered. "Shh. You're not alone anymore. We're here now, for both of you.

By the time Paul Martin and Clint Mason left the Ponderosa, Amanda had already been asleep for five minutes. Although everyone had eventually welcomed her, Ben and Candy had done so with open arms, while Adam and Joe kept their distance. Ben had taken notice of their reluctance, and when Candy excused himself to check on things in the barn, Ben had some words for his sons.

"Adam, Joe, I'd like to speak to you both," Ben said, glancing at the closed guest room door, "upstairs, in my room."

They followed their father and when he closed the door to his room, Joe could hold it in no longer. As his father paced, Joe spoke his mind.

"Pa," Joe said, "She knows a lot of private things and has that ring and . . . well, I think it might mean she was Hoss's girl, but that doesn't mean we should trust her."

"I agree with Joe," Adam said, "and while I can't say as I agree with Hoss keeping his relationship a secret, and given that she's . . ."

Ben flashed Adam a warning, then continued to pace, holding his chin and rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip.

". . . expecting a child, I can think of a couple of reasons why she'd come to us. One is exactly what she says, that she wants to be with Hoss's family, wants us to know his child. And another is money. Money and Jackson Findley."

"That's right," Joe added, "and are we to take her word that she's wealthy? Pa, we've been the target of confidence men before, and isn't it possible that she's here for money?"

Ben stopped. "All right! I've heard enough!"

Joe hung his head and plopped down on Ben's four-poster bed, knowing that if his father disagreed, he and Adam were in for quite a battle.

Adam leaned against the lower left poster and folded his arms, waiting for the argument to begin.

"I can't explain it," Ben said, pacing. "I don't understand it, myself. But for some reason, call it intuition, I believe her. I know that Hoss wouldn't have wanted us to know that she and he had . . . that they had . . ."

Joe and Adam's amusement was short-lived when Adam felt a pang of irreverence and jumped in to help his father.

"That they had been intimate," Adam said.

Ben nodded.

"Pa," Joe said, feeling for his father's discomfort, "Hoss would never have . . . been intimate with a woman he didn't love."

"And that inscription," Adam added, "would have meant too much to Hoss to give it to just any woman."

Ben smiled. "I asked you up here to try and make you see that she's telling the truth about Hoss, and here you two are trying to convince me!"

Adam scratched the side of his neck and smiled. "Pa," he said, "the thing is, we can prove that she tried to divorce Jackson Findley, and that he's the con man and murderer she says he is. But that's all we can really prove. That said, I have to admit that I believe her when she says she knew Hoss, maybe even loved him. And I guess, if all of that is true, then it's possible that she's having his baby."

"I feel the same way," Joe added. "So, what do we do about it?"

"I'll tell you what we do," Ben said, pacing once again. "Joe, tomorrow you and I will go into town and send a few wires to San Francisco. I know just who to send them to. Then, we'll have a talk with Roy and ask him to see what he can find out about Jackson Findley, his trial, and the murder of Charles Findley. And after that, we'll pay a visit to Wilfred Barnes at the bank. His brother is a banker in San Francisco, and maybe he can give us some information about the holdings of Jackson and Amanda Findley. Adam, you and Candy can find enough to do around the ranch such that one of you is always in the house, in case Amanda needs anything. Paul said he'd stop by tomorrow afternoon to check on Amanda and the baby . . . Hoss's baby."

"Pa," Joe said, moving to his father.

"I'm fine, Joe," Ben said, clapping Joe's shoulder. Ben's voice was suddenly seemed far away. "It'll be good to have a baby in the house again."

"What if it's a girl?" Joe asked, a chuckle in his tone.

"What if Amanda doesn't plan to stay?" Adam thought, shuddering at the thought of what that would do to his father.


	31. Chapter 31 - Danger On The Wind

**CHAPTER THIRTY ONE**

**_DANGER ON THE WIND_**

"Are you absolutely certain he was with them?" Randall Binghamton asked, his voice brimming with fear and anger. "There's no doubt?"

Vance paced along the edge of the rug beneath the large desk in the lawyer's office. "That's what the wire said. What are we gonna do, Mr. Binghamton? You're the only one who knows where she went! And I still don't understand why she felt she couldn't tell me! I've been the foreman at The Lucky A since the day her pa bought the place!"

"I know, Vance," Randall said, "and you can talk with Amanda about that when she returns. But right now, I need to get to the telegraph office and send a wire. You'd best get back to the ranch and tell the men to be on the lookout."

"Yes, sir," Vance replied. "They all remember what that scum is capable of doin' and ain't a one of 'em won't shoot first and ask questions later if Jackson Findley shows his face at The Lucky A!"

Vance continued to pace and after Randall wrote out the telegram, he and Randall left the law office together. Just before Vance headed off in the direction of The Lucky A, Randall repeated his warning one last time. "Remember, everyone keeps their eyes open!"

"Yes, sir," Vance said. "You'll see to Miss Amanda, then?"

Randall nodded. "I will, Vance, I promise you that."

Randall walked the nine blocks to the telegraph office at lightning speed. There were three men before him in the queue, and Randall broke into a cold sweat as he fidgeted impatiently in the line. When it was his turn, he slid the hand-written note across the counter to the operator, who read through the message slowly.

Lowering his voice, the operator leaned through the desk window. "Mr. Binghamton," he whispered, "does this here say what I think it says?"

"Yes, Carl, it does," Randall said, slipping the fee and a more than ample tip onto the desk. "Please, send it immediately. And not a word of this to anyone!"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Randall. Yes, sir!"

"Oh, and Carl," Randall added. "I need to be notified the minute an answer comes through. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right, men," Vance said as the hands at The Lucky A gathered in the bunk house. "Listen up, and listen careful!"

"What's goin' on, Vance?" one of the hands shouted.

"I'll tell ya what's goin' on," Vance said, his face tense and serious. "There was a prison break last week. Ten convicts escaped, all of 'em was murderers. And one of 'em was Jackson Findley."

The murmur in the bunkhouse started quietly and grew to threats of hanging and promises of capture.

"Quiet down! Quiet down!" Vance shouted. "We was all aware the murderin' son of a bitch might be paroled early by some idiot judge somewhere, but now, we don't hafta wait. He's already out! Now, most of you know that Miss Amanda ain't here at the ranch. Mr. Binghamton is gonna get word to her, but all of us here hafta be on the lookout for any sign of that murderin' bastard!"

Once again, the voices rose in anger and concern.

"Maybe he won't have the nerve to show his face back here!" someone yelled above the din.

Shouts of agreement and questions of doubt rose across the room.

"Jackson Findley ain't about to walk away from all of this!" Vance yelled. "He'll find a way to get here, and he'll be hell-bent on hurtin' Miss Amanda again and takin' ev'rything she has! Or maybe even worse!"

"Not if we kin help it!" came the cries from the hands.

"All right then! On my way back from town, I stopped off at the Bar M, and Mr. Molson will be sending ten of his best men over to help us stand watch. I think you all know most of them. They're good men, and together, we'll make sure that Findley doesn't get near Miss Amanda's ranch!"

"Well, did the plan work?" Jackson Findley asked, anxious for a report from his men.

"Sure did!" Hiller replied. "Took us awhile, but we was able ta pull it off."

"Yeah," Jarvis laughed. "Happened like it was planned jist fer us!"

"Alls we had ta do was walk on up 'n' that was that!" Flint added, his laugh revealing his gap-toothed grin. "It was jist like they knowed we was comin' 'n' laid ev'rything out all fancy 'n' sweet fer us ta take!"

"Good!" Jackson said. "Now, let's get some shut-eye and we'll start out as soon as it's dark. We've got a long way to go. Jarvis, you take the first watch!"

Jarvis nodded, climbed clumsily to his perch atop a rock, and scanned the dark forest and the lamp-lit city below.

Jackson eagerly climbed into his warm bedroll, pulled the scratchy woolen fabric beneath his neck, and let out a self-satisfied puff of air. The cave was cool and dank and it reminded him of the past nineteen months: months he'd lain awake on his prison cot planning his escape and his sweet revenge on his wife, Amanda. He closed his eyes, remembering the breakout and the smiling face of Sam West.

It had been seven months since Sam West had approached Jackson, telling him of his gang on the outside and the breakout they were planning. Sam had promised that his plan was foolproof and, given Sam's previous escapes from various prisons and jails, Jackson was inclined to join in on the plan.

"I'll pull everything together on my end," Sam had promised. "Just remember, once we're out, you're on your own. I've got my own plans once I'm outta this hell hole!"

Jackson had agreed, knowing that they had a better chance of getting away clean if they split up and went their separate ways.

And so the day had arrived and the other prisoners had unknowingly cooperated by continuing a brawl started by Sam and Jackson. As the guards pushed and fought their way into the crowd of flying fists and splattering blood, Sam, Jackson, and ten others had retreated to the corner of the room, tucked out of sight behind a stack of cordwood. The brick along the wall shifted, wiggling its way left and right until it freed itself of the mortar. Sam lifted the brick and set it behind them. Another brick wobbled and fell forward. Jackson caught it and tossed it aside, and so it continued, the brawl distracting the guards, and the hole in the wall growing brick by missing brick.

The moment the hole was large enough for Jackson, he climbed through. Sam followed and, within two minutes, twelve convicts made it through the opening in the wall. The hole opened into the kitchen, empty at this time of day, as was the plan. They hurried to the door and once Sam had determined that no guards were present, the prisoners took off across the yard. With great effort, Sam, Jackson, and eight others scaled the wall before the first shots rang out. Two of the twelve prisoners, both of them caught midway along the wall, were shot and killed as the others fled into the waiting forest. Sam took off, and along with several others, ran swiftly to the east. Jackson, heading west, quickly found Flint, Jarvis, and Hiller waiting with horses saddled and supplies packed, and together, the four men made it safely to the cave near the top of Kingman's Hill.

The cave, once part of a long abandoned mining operation, had been boarded shut when the mines closed, and years of shifting earth and arid weather had caused rocks of all shapes and sizes to further cover the opening. Flint, Jarvis, and Hiller had spent weeks hauling the rocks and boulders away, providing Jackson with the perfect place to spend his first night of freedom. And as he drifted off to sleep, Jackson pictured his reunion with his lovely wife, her face ashen at the sight of her convict husband. He squirmed, his body responding to the thought of his delicate Amanda. And that night, he dreamed of lying at her side in the hand-carved bed at The Lucky A. In his dream, he reminded her that their marriage had never been consummated, what with his father's tragic death on their wedding night, and the proper mourning period and the funeral and all. And in that dream, Amanda smiled up at him as she lay next to him, and for the very first time, he took her for his own.


	32. Chapter 32 - Pieces Of A Puzzle

**CHAPTER THIRTY TWO**

**_PIECES OF A PUZZLE_**

"How long ya figure till they git back?" Hall asked, a moist piece of half-chewed biscuit toppling from his mouth.

Tom shoveled another heaping spoonful of thick, salty stew into his mouth. "Now, how would I know that? It's not like I ever busted outta prison and had ta make my way across the territory while there was a posse on my trail!"

Hall grabbed the piece of biscuit from the dirt and slid it into his mouth. "I's jist askin', 's all! No need ta git all girlie on me!"

Tom slapped Hall across the back.

"Don't be callin' me girlie!" Tom yelled.

"I didn't mean nothin' by it, honest!" Hall insisted.

Tom scraped his plate with his fork and then licked it clean. Hall did the same before slurping his coffee and belching loudly.

"You think we'll git a look at her?" Hall asked.

"Nah," Tom replied. "I figure you 'n' me'll be long gone before ole Jackson gits his hands on that perty little wife o' his!"

"That's too bad!" Hall said, wiping droplets of stew that had trickled from his mustache onto the back of his sleeve. "I hear tell she's quite the lady!"

"Yeah, well, when Jackson gits done with teachin' her a lesson fer what she done," Tom said, "she ain't gonna be the lady she used ta be!"

Hall laughed a sinister, grotesque laugh that echoed through the old abandoned mine shaft. "She shouldn't oughta have cheated on her husband like that. It's bound ta make a man think o' all sorts o' ways ta git even, 'specially when that man's in prison 'n' ain't got a whole lot ta think about but his perty wife lyin' next ta some fancy dude rancher!"

The main street of Virginia City was especially busy that night. Several of the smaller ranches in the area had begun their roundups ahead of schedule in preparation for the upcoming autumn auction in Carson City. The saloons were filled with drovers and hands and foremen from all over the territory, emptying their just-filled pockets on whiskey, beer, women, and poker. Many of the businesses had stayed open later than usual, hoping to deplete some of those pockets before the men who wore them entered the saloons along the main street and visited the brothels on C Street.

Missing from the crowd of cheerful patrons were Candy Canaday and Adam and Joe Cartwright. Several of the saloon girls had asked about them, wondering if the handsome men might come in for a quick beer and a game of poker. So when Roy Coffee entered the Bucket of Blood and asked if anyone had seen Candy, Adam, or Joe in town that day, the saloon girls were the first to let him know they hadn't been seen in town at all. Roy quickly checked the other saloons, and upon hearing more of the same, made his way to the home of Deputy Clem Foster.

"Sorry to bother ya so late at night, Clem," Roy said, "but we've got some trouble brewin' and I need ya to come with me."

Clem reached behind the door for his hat and gun belt. "What's the trouble, Roy? Those drovers gettin' outta control already?"

"Ain't the drovers, Clem," Roy replied. "There was a prison break at San Quinton a few days ago and I just got word that one o' them convicts is most likely headin' this way."

Clem buckled his gun belt and closed his door behind him. "Who is this convict?"

"Jackson Findley's his name," Roy answered.

"Don't recall that name," Clem said as he fiddled with the holster's buckle. "What makes you think this Findley's comin' to Virginia City?"

"This!" Roy said, stopping just short of Clem's porch steps. He handed the lengthy telegram to Clem, who stepped beneath the porch lamp to read its contents.

Roy waited impatiently as Clem read the wire not once, but twice.

"The Ponderosa?" Clem asked.

"That's what it says," Roy replied. "What do you make of that last line?"

"It says, 'a friend of Hoss's is in grave danger'," Clem said, his voice trailing off as he considered the implications of the telegram. "You figure that's Candy?"

"Could be!" Roy said. "But it don't make no never mind who the friend is. Anything or anybody who has ties to Hoss is bound to bring up some pretty raw feelings for the Cartwrights and now that Adam's back, that includes him as well. Now, I've left three deputies ta keep an eye on things here in town. I know it's late, but we're ridin' to the Ponderosa tonight. I ain't about ta stand by and let that family be hurt again!" He and Clem started for their horses, when Roy added in a whispered tone, "Especially not right after losin' Hoss."

In the guest room of the Ponderosa, Amanda lay awake, the events of the day running over and over in her mind. She lifted her hand to her breast and the little pocket inside. She pressed lightly, warming the spot where Hoss's ring sat tucked inside where it belonged, next her heart. Amanda sighed. The night they'd said their own, private vows together came rushing back as if it was yesterday. She closed her eyes and pictured him standing face to face with her, his amazing blue eyes sparkling with joyful tears.

"I'm not real good with words," he'd said, 'but then, you already know that. Sometimes I think you know me better than I know me! 'N' that's okay. In fact, that's the way it should be, I think. Oh, listen ta me, ramblin' on 'n' on."

Hoss's voice had always made her tingle inside and out. Sometimes it was for no reason at all, and other times, it was because he was the kindest, most thoughtful man she'd ever met. And that night he'd been not only kind and thoughtful, but romantic, as well. She remembered watching him reach into his inside jacket pocket, and now, lying in the guest room on the Ponderosa, she tingled with anticipation once again, even though seven months had passed. "I got this fer you," he'd said, holding the ring between trembling fingers and grinning nervously as his cheeks blushed, "'cause it's beautiful 'n' simple; two of your favorite things."

"Beautiful and simple. Oh, Hoss, you remembered!" she'd exclaimed.

"Mandy," he'd said, "I remember everythin' you say!"

The open window in the Ponderosa guest room invited a soft breeze inside and Amanda smiled and pulled the quilt up to her chin. The cozy, warm feeling reminded her of how she'd felt that night when Hoss had wrapped his strong arms around her so tenderly.

_Oh, Hoss! You did remember everything, even that white apple blossom flower, the one I said was my favorite because it was beautiful and simple. And that night, when you handed me my ring and told me you loved me, you said that you thought God wouldn't mind if we married each other with just him watching . . . I was happier in that moment than I'd ever been and I couldn't imagine feeling any more in love with you than I was. But then, you showed me the inscription and oh, Hoss, it meant so much to me. You said you had the words etched on the inside of the ring so they'd be forever close to my skin, and then you slid it on my finger . . . Oh, Hoss! I miss you so. I want your ring on my finger, where it belongs! I know it can never be official . . . not now . . . but soon it will be on my finger again, like it was that night, and all of our special nights after. _Amanda hugged her arms across her chest, wishing in vain that the arms belonged to Hoss. _I know you were here today. I felt you with me. And in a way, I saw you, or at least a little part of you, in Joe and Adam, and especially in your father. They're exactly as you described them, Hoss. But I do have to tell you that their fierce protectiveness of one another, and of you, is very intimidating! _Amanda shifted beneath the blankets, a sudden feeling of loneliness washing over her. _Maybe . . . if I can become more than an outsider, we'll be safely tucked into that protectiveness. I don't know that I deserve to be included, but your child does. Your child. I still can't believe that you've given me this gift. A baby! Our baby, Hoss! _The smile that had spread on her face slowly faded. _I hope you've forgiven me for coming here to the Ponderosa. I know you didn't want your father to know that we'd made love without marriage. And I am so very sorry for any heartache that my coming here might cause him. But the moment I found out about our child, I had to put everything aside and focus just on her happiness, her safety. _Amanda's smile returned. _Yes, Hoss! I think it's a girl! I have no reasons, just what I feel in my heart. But I don't care, girl or boy, as long as the baby's healthy and happy . . . and safe. That's why I had to come, Hoss. I'm afraid Jackson will cause trouble . . . especially when he finds out about our child. And he will find out. He has people everywhere, watching me and reporting back to him. Oh, Hoss, I didn't want to involve your family in the mistakes I've made in my life, but I had to involve them in the best thing I've ever done – loving you. _

Amanda squeezed the ring that lay against her heart. "I love you, Hoss," she whispered aloud, closing her eyes and reciting the words over and over.

As Amanda drifted in and out of the hazy precipice between consciousness and sleep, the men in the great room attempted a late evening routine of normalcy. Candy invited Joe to a game of checkers, but memories of games with Hoss were more than Joe could handle on this particular evening. As Ben read the same paragraph in the Virginia City News for the third time and Candy, Adam, and Joe played a middling game of poker in front of the roaring hearth, the faint, unexpected sound of a gasp caught Joe's attention.

"What was that?" Joe whispered, his eyes moving to the front door.

"It was probably just the logs settling in the fire, Joe," Adam said, laying the three of hearts atop the pile.

"No, I heard it, too," Candy said, his hand moving instinctively to his side.

Ben set the newspaper aside and strained to hear what the younger men had heard, and when Amanda called out from the closed guest bedroom, the Cartwrights and Candy sprang into action, gathering their pistols from the credenza by the front door. Joe clicked the latch, turned the knob, and peered out onto the porch. He nodded to Candy and the two set out to check the front yard. Seconds later, the guestroom door flew open and, guns in hand, Ben and Adam burst into Amanda's darkened room.


	33. Chapter 33 - Joy and Fear

**CHAPTER THIRTY THREE**

**_JOY AND FEAR_**

"Amanda?" Ben called. "What is it?"

"The baby!" Amanda cried. "The baby!"

Adam lit the lamp just as Joe and Candy raced into the room. "There's no sign of anyone outside, Pa," Joe said, breathing heavily.

"Joe, I'll check the corral," Candy said, turning to head back outside.

"No, Candy," Adam said, holding the lamp up to the bed. "There's nothing outside."

"Amanda, dear," Ben said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He held her hands, frightened by their trembling. "Are you in pain? Candy, go for the doctor!"

"No, wait!" Amanda cried. "I . . . I don't need the doctor."

"What is it, then?" Ben asked.

"The baby, Mr. Cartwright," she cried, tears flowing down her cheeks and dripping from her chin. "The baby moved! I felt it! It's . . . I've never felt her before!"

"Her?" Joe asked, his voice squeaking and his eyes gleaming.

"That's what the lady said," Candy agreed, his face covered in a grin.

"Are you sure you don't want the doctor?" Adam asked, moving closer to the bed.

"Oh," she cried, her hands immediately grasping the sides of her expanding middle. "There she is again!" Slowly, Amanda raised her eyes and saw Hoss in Ben Cartwright's face. "Mr. Cartwright," she said shyly, "I don't know how much longer she'll be moving tonight. And I know it may not be . . . well, I . . . Would you, I mean . . . You don't have to, of course, but if you'd like to . . ."

A dizzying wave of emotion rose from Ben's chest to his head and as it threatened to steal his breath, a familiar, soothing voice rang in his ears. "Ben! Ben!" Inger had called. "I felt the life inside me! Our baby, Ben! Our baby is alright!" Ben remembered reaching for his wife and swathing her gently in his powerful arms. And later, as she lay with her head resting against his shoulder, Inger had entwined her fingers with his and carefully placed them against her as their son shifted and kicked, his tiny movements bringing joy to the father who would cherish him all of his days.

"It's alright, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said, intruding on Ben's thoughts. "I understand if you'd rather not . . ."

Ben offered his hand, his fingers trembling. Amanda smiled, placing her hand atop his, leading it to the spot where she'd just seconds ago felt the baby moving. After several minutes, it seemed as though the child had gone to sleep, and Ben's wounded face wrenched at Amanda's heart. _Please, sweetheart, one more kick . . . for your papa's father . . . for your grandpa._

Ben smiled placidly and pulled his hand away. "Maybe another time . . ." he said, jumping when Amanda suddenly grabbed his hand and lowered it slightly left of where it had been moments before. Ben felt pressure pushing against his palm and a grin spread across his face. "I feel her!" he said. "I feel her! I believe . . . yes! That's a foot!"

Amanda giggled. "How can you be sure?"

"I've done this a few times before, young lady," Ben said, his eyes twinkling in the shimmer of tears, "and that is definitely a foot!"

A sharp rap on the front door made everyone jump, and when the knocking continued Ben nodded and Joe, Adam, and Candy, guns drawn, stepped from the room.

"Mr. Cartwright?" Amanda said, clearly frightened by the late night visitor.

"I'm sure it's all right, dear," Ben assured, thankful that he'd stopped for his gun before rushing into Amanda's room. "But we'll stay right here while the boys answer the door."

First to the door, Adam hesitated while Joe and Candy settled into their positions behind him. When Joe nodded, Adam leaned into the latched door and yelled, "Who is it?"

"Adam! It's Roy and Clem!" Roy shouted.

Adam unlatched the door as Candy and Joe exhaled loudly.

"I'm sorry for paying a visit at this hour, Adam," Roy said, "but it's important. Is your pa here?"

Hearing the voice of Virginia City's sheriff, Ben appeared from around the corner. "What is it Roy?" he asked, ushering the group over to his desk, away from Amanda's room.

"Ben, have you got a visitor stayin' here?" Clem asked.

"What's this all about?" Ben asked, avoiding Clem's question until he gathered more information.

"Ben, I got this wire this evening," Roy said, handing the wire to Ben.

Ben silently read the first few words and stopped, glancing back toward the guest room. He looked at Candy and tilted his head, nodding toward the room.

Candy nodded back and stepped across the way, standing just outside of Amanda's door and hoping he wouldn't have to come up with a reason for asking her not to step out.

Ben read the message in its entirety: To Ben Cartwright, Ponderosa Ranch, Nevada Territory. Mr. Cartwright, Jackson Findley part of prison break. Dangerous man. Vengeance foremost. Protect those who loved Hoss. Signed, Randall Binghamton, Esquire, Friend of Hoss, San Francisco, California.

"Pa," Adam said, "what is it?"

Ben handed the paper to Adam, and as he and Joe examined the wire, Adam whispered, "Findley's escaped?"

"Ben," Roy said, "now it's my turn to ask you the same question. What's this all about?"

Ben looked at Adam, his face matching his father's grim expression.

"Joe, we're going to need some coffee."

"Sure thing, Pa," Joe said, rushing into the kitchen and hoping he would be back before missing details of his father's plan of action.

"Adam," Ben said, "talk to Amanda. Tell her . . . tell her there's been some trouble at one of the ranches and Roy needed to talk to us about it. See if you can convince her to get some sleep."

"I'll do my best," Adam said, surprised by his need to protect the young woman.

"Adam," Ben added, "get back out here as quickly as you can."

Adam nodded and walked away.

"Roy, Clem, you'd best have a seat," Ben said, his mind already racing with implications and plans for necessary precautions. "We've got trouble ahead."


	34. Chapter 34 - As Strategies Mature

**CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR**

**_AS STRATEGIES MATURE_**

Roy and Clem left the Ponderosa well after midnight. They'd come up with several possible plans for protecting Amanda, and the Cartwrights and Candy were grateful for their suggestions. The first step of the agreed upon plan was to let Paul Martin know about the prison break and the potential danger to Amanda and the baby. That task had been assigned to Roy, and he planned to wake the doctor on his way back into town. Clem's part was to spend as much time as possible in the streets of Virginia City keeping his eyes wide open and his ears listening for any hint of strangers asking too many questions. In the morning, Roy would wire towns between San Francisco and Virginia City, asking them to wire news of any strangers heading his way. Roy would also send a wire to Randall Binghamton asking for a description of Jackson Findley to go along with the description on the wanted posters that were expected on the morning stage.

Joe and Candy would remain at the house at all times, finding chores for themselves to do and keeping Amanda from the news of the escape for as long as possible. Adam would go about business as usual, making appearances in town; his first stop being the sheriff's office, his second, Amanda's hotel room. Ben would find a reason to move Amanda to one of the upstairs guest rooms, distancing her from the front door and keeping her closer to the family in the darkness of the night. And over the next few days, they would all take turns participating in the efforts at the Landry ranch.

That evening, as Candy took the first watch downstairs, Ben paced in his room, piecing together the unexpected turn his family was taking. His thoughts, no matter how tangled and uncertain, continued to lead him back to memories of Inger and the precious gift she'd given him so many years ago. Their time together had been brief: as if her love had blown in on the dewy, morning breeze and floated away in the cooling, sunset hours. He often felt that he'd asked more from Inger than any man had the right to ask, yet his regret for the hardship she'd endured as they traveled west only proved to solidify what he knew in his heart – Inger loved him deeply. And as he paced the floor of his Ponderosa bedroom, Ben was reminded of the fear and helplessness he'd felt at three pivotal points in his life – each time, facing the prospect of raising a child without its mother. _Amanda will not have to face raising their child alone. If she'll have us, we'll do everything within our power to help her and her child. Hoss's child, a Cartwright child._

Pioche was much more than a raucous, upstart settlement. It was the gathering place for delinquents and unrepentant criminals from all over the Nevada territory. The town's reputation for lawlessness was spreading rapidly, reaching far beyond Nevada Territory's boundaries, as far north as Utah, and even further in other directions. The arrival of strangers in town garnered no more than scowls and an occasional inquiry from the mostly transient residents, and every day, ex-cons, escapees, and those fortunate enough to have evaded capture poured in and out of Pioche along its north to south road. The arrival of four unshaven, dust-coated strangers went virtually unnoticed as Jackson Findley and his three henchmen rode into the town of Pioche.

"Hiller, you're with me," Jackson said as they approached the center of town. "Flint, you and Jarvis pick up the supplies we need and head on out to the rendezvous point. Hiller and I will meet you there at noon."

Flint nodded and as he and Jarvis split off from the others, Jackson added a warning to his instructions. "Flint," Jackson said, "you buy the supplies on that list. Nothing more. Understood?"

Flint nodded yet again and he and Jarvis made their way to the only general store in Pioche.

"I thought the boss was a rich man!" Jarvis said as he and Flint tethered their horses. "You reckon he's runnin' outta cash?"

Flint leaned his forearms against his mare. "First, it ain't our place to question the boss's orders," he said, stopping long enough to splatter a mouthful of thick, brown spittle into the dirt. "Second, even if he's run outta his own money, that wife o' his has got plenty enough ta go around, and seeing as how they're married, what's hers is his!"

Jarvis grinned and as he chuckled, his graying teeth shone dull against his dribble-covered lips. "Yeah! The boss made sure of that, didn't he? Maybe he used up his own money ta do it, but that perty little gal has more 'an enough ta replace what he's paid out!"

"Well, you best keep your opinions to yourself where the boss's wife is concerned," Flint said, pulling the crumpled list from his trouser pocket. "He ain't real fond o' people talkin' about her at all! Now let's git them supplies and git out to the point!"

"How long ya figger we been out here?" Hall asked.

"One day longer than the last time ya asked me, you idiot!" Tom yelled, kicking Hall's booted feet off of the small, square kitchen table.

Hall's chair tipped and he nearly toppled to the floor as his legs flew to the ground. "Ya know, I've had jist about enough o' you!"

Tom chortled as he rocked back on his chair, a gurgling sound rising from his lungs and into his throat as his laugh grew into a deep, bubbling cough. When moments later the spasms subsided, Tom's face was left reddened and his eyes watered profusely. "Spendin' the last hundred 'n' twenty-some days with the likes o' you ain't been no picnic neither!"

"Well," Hall laughed as Tom's cough crept up yet again, "at least I know this here job's pert near finished 'n' perty soon, I won't hafta look at yer ugly mug ev'ry single day!"

The muted, moaning sound from the bedroom of the ramshackle cabin was buried by the ripples of coughing and the verbal jousting between the thugs in the kitchen, and when the clamor subsided, the moans had been replaced by the steady breathing of Hoss Cartwright.


	35. Chapter 35 - Inquiries and Admissions

**CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE**

**_INQUIRIES AND ADMISSIONS_**

"I'm sorry, Adam," Roy said, "but the stage is running late this morning. Seems there's been some bad weather over to Larson Flats. Sherman says it should be pullin' inta town in about an hour."

Adam absentmindedly fiddled with the crease in his hat. "I'll be in town for most of the morning," he said. "I'll stop by after the stage comes through. It'll help to have a description of Findley if I'm going to be nosing around town."

"I understand," Roy said as he poured himself another cup of coffee. "You'd be wasting time chasing down false leads otherwise."

Adam stood, slapped his hat onto his head, and nodded as he left the sheriff's office and began his search for any signs of Jackson Findley in Virginia City.

"Emma," Ben said, tipping his hat to the widow, "I'm so sorry about the fire and your losses."

"Thank you, Mr. Cartwright," Emma Landry said, sentiment grasping at her voice. "I can't tell you what it means to see so many of my friends here today, all ready to pitch in and help me and my boys rebuild!"

Ben's genuine smile softened his words as he took her hand in his. "Emma, there's no stopping the people of Virginia City when one of our own is in need."

"And I plan to thank each and every one of them myself!" Emma said.

Ben offered his arm and led her away from the crowd of volunteers gathering by the remains of the Landry barn. "Emma, I'd like to ask if it would be alright for Adam to enlist Bo's help with the plans for the new barn, and if Joe and our foreman, Candy, could come by tomorrow and take Matt out to look for your strays. I hope it isn't too presumptuous of me to offer, but I think . . ."

"You think it might do Matt and Bo some good to spend time with three hard working young men," Emma said.

"I hope I didn't offend you or your sons," Ben said. "I meant no disrespect, it's just that, well, I've heard that the boys have been in a few scrapes and have gotten into a little trouble and . . ."

"Ben," Emma said, shaking her head, "I appreciate anything you and your sons and foreman can do to get through to my boys. I'd hoped that they'd turn to each other when Asa passed, but losing their father seems to have driven them apart from one another, and from me."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Emma," Ben said."Maybe my boys can help your boys . . ."

"Oh, Ben!" Emma laughed. "Hearing you refer to your grown sons as your 'boys' gives me goose flesh! I do hope they know how lucky they are to have a father that loves them as much as you do!"

Ben's glow and the twinkle in his eyes lit his face like a ray of pure sunshine. "I do love my sons," he said. _And the grandchild that I'm about to welcome into this world._

"Mrs. Findley," Joe begged, "Doctor Martin said you were to take it easy for a few days. Please, won't you come into the living room and read or . . . I know, how about a nice, quiet game of checkers?"

Amanda giggled. "First, please call me Amanda. Anytime I can do without being reminded of . . . you know . . . so please, call me Amanda."

When Joe nodded reluctantly, Amanda knew that Hoss's little brother wasn't yet ready to welcome her with open arms. "And second, with the way you and Hoss cheated at checkers, do you honestly think I'd jump at the chance to play?"

Joe looked as if he'd been slapped across the face – again. "Hoss told you about that?" he asked.

"Yeah, he did," Amanda said softly. "And he said he wouldn't have had it any other way, Joe. He loved you very much."

The second the words rolled from her lips, Amanda knew she'd crossed a boundary not yet ready to be breached.

"I don't need you to tell me that my brother loved me!" Joe said. Immediately, his father's last words that morning echoed in his mind: "Don't do or say anything to upset Amanda. We have to think of both her and the baby." Joe took a deep breath and, unable to meet her eyes, spoke to Amanda. "I'm sorry," he said flatly. "Please, Amanda, would you come into the living room and relax for a bit?"

"Alright, Joe," Amanda said, the hurt in Joe's eyes tearing at her heart. She quickly removed the apron she'd found hanging in Hop Sing's kitchen. "I'm sorry my boredom got the best of me. You're right, of course. I shouldn't be helping myself to things in your kitchen."

"It's not that, Amanda," Joe explained. "When you're a guest in this house, you're welcome to anything you need and under normal . . . I mean other circumstances, you helping out in the kitchen while Hop Sing's at the Landry's would be much appreciated, but . . ."

"But if anything would happen to the baby while you are in charge of watching me," Amanda interrupted, "your father would never forgive you."

Joe's head snapped upward and his eyes pierced Amanda's. "If anything were to happen to you or the baby, I'd never forgive myself!"


	36. Chapter 36 - Conceal and Withhold

**CHAPTER THIRTY SIX**

**_CONCEAL AND WITHHOLD_**

Awkward was the only word Adam could think of to describe how he felt as he lifted the neatly-folded stacks of clothing from the dresser in Amanda's International Hotel suite. Earlier that morning, after Ben had made it clear to Amanda that she would be staying on the Ponderosa and would no longer need the rooms in town, she'd given the key to Adam so he could retrieve her belongings and bring them to the ranch. After packing her possessions and making every attempt to do so without prying in any way, Adam descended the staircase and proceeded to the unmanned desk near the large, double door. Two sharp taps on the shrill bell atop the desk quickly brought Amos Young from his duties in the lobby.

"Mr. Cartwright, how nice to see you!" Amos said, having noticed the satchel lying at Adam's feet as he'd scurried across the lobby. "You'll be needing a room, I see."

"Huh?" Adam said, remembering the satchel as he spoke. "Oh, no, Amos. No room. These things belong to a wom . . . a family friend who is visiting Virginia City and has decided to stay with us at the Ponderosa." Seeing Amos's eyebrows raising, Adam continued. "She gave me her key," he said, sliding the heavy metal across the desk, "and asked me to collect her things."

"Alright, Mr. Cartwright," Amos said suspiciously. "And might I ask . . ."

Adam shook his head and slid his palm across the cool, flat surface of the counter.

Amos looked down, and when Adam lifted his thumb and forefinger, the sight of the stack of bills hidden beneath Adam's fingers sent a chill down Amos's frame.

"There was no lady in the suite upstairs," Adam said emphatically, "no one came for anyone's things and, as a matter of fact, no female has requested a room for several days, therefore, no name would be found on the register. Isn't that correct, Amos?"

Amos nodded as he ripped the top page from the hotel register, crumpled it in his hand, and slipped it, in place of the cash, beneath Adam's palm.

Silently, Adam scooped up the wadded paper, picked up the satchel, and left the hotel. He strolled casually down the dusty main street, dodging passersby as Virginia City filled quickly with early morning shoppers and businessmen. He tipped his hat and nodded his greetings as he made his way to the sheriff's office, hoping to find that the stage had arrived and that Roy now had a description of Jackson Findley.

"Adam!" Roy called from the porch of the jail, waving to Adam as he approached the building, "got time for a cup of coffee?"

"Sure do, Roy," Adam answered as he climbed the steps, hoping to make his second visit in one morning to Roy's office sound matter-of-fact.

Once inside, Adam was greeted by Clem holding a wanted poster bearing the likeness of Jackson Findley.

"Adam," Roy said as he poured three cups of fresh brewed coffee, "last night, after Clem and me got back to Virginia City, I sent a wire to that Randall Binghamton in San Francisco. This morning, while you were gone, I got an answer from him. He says he's got men situated all over The Lucky A and most of 'em would recognize Findley if he shows his face there abouts. And he's worried about Mrs. Findley. He wants some assurances that she'll be protected here as well as he could do for her there."

Adam blew across the top of the steamy liquid in his mug and stared into the soft ripples crashing against the sides. "If my father had his way, he'd lock Mrs. Findley in one of your cells and post a constant guard at every door and window."

Clem lowered himself onto the edge of the paper-strewn desk and raised his eyes toward Roy. "Then, you don't agree with your father?" Clem asked.

Adam sipped his coffee and winced as the heat irritated his lips. "It's not that I disagree. Any woman who's rightfully afraid of a man, whether or not he's her husband, should be protected from him."

Roy scrunched his mouth and took a seat in his chair. He leaned his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. "Do you think she's lyin', Adam? I mean to say, we've got proof in that notice from the prison that Jackson Findley is her husband, that he was convicted of hiring someone ta kill his own wealthy father, and that he broke outta the penitentiary. Seems ta me there's only one other thing she could be lyin' about."

"Yeah," Adam said, swirling his cup. "And that's the one thing we can't ever prove for sure."

Clem looked away as thoughts of Hoss streamed through his mind, and Roy situated his chin against his fingers and wondered at the thought of Hoss in love with the right woman, and of Hoss as a doting father.

"I'm going to send a telegram to a friend of mine in San Francisco," Adam said, interrupting the stillness echoing against the jail's walls. "He's in banking, and I'll ask what he knows of the Findley and Spencer holdings. And just to be on the safe side, I'll ask if he knows this Randall Binghamton."

"You figure this Binghamton might not be on the up and up?" Clem asked.

"Can't hurt to find out for sure," Adam replied.

"But, Adam," Roy said, standing and leaning with his fists on his desk, "if Binghamton isn't on the up and up, why, then I've made a bad situation worse! I wired him and told him we was doing all we could for Mrs. Findley. He knows she's here!"

Adam set down his mug with a loud thud. "I know, Roy. I've erased Amanda from the hotel, we've got a description of Findley, and with you and Clem keeping your eyes open around town, the only thing left for me to do is send that wire and get back to the Ponderosa. Let's just hope we didn't tip our hand to anyone who might be working with Jackson Findley!"


	37. Chapter 37 - Fitting In and Helping

**CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN**

**_FITTING IN AND HELPING OUT_**

Although summer was far from over, the late afternoon sun seemed particularly stifling as Adam rode from Virginia City to the Landry's ranch, Amanda's satchel tied securely to his saddle. He'd accomplished all he could in town, including sending two telegrams to friends in the financial industry in San Francisco and arranging for Nate Gilbert to hand-deliver the replies directly to Ben or himself later that evening at the Ponderosa. As he rode the trail, visions of Hoss blinked over and over into his mind and remorse filled his heart at the thought that in his five-year-absence from the Ponderosa, Hoss's appearance might have changed, making those visions of his brother seem even further in the past.

Well before hearing the murmur of the gathered crowd of volunteers or seeing the charred ruins of the Landry barn and home, Adam's nose tingled from the smell of ash still lingering in the air. As he rode closer, he heard the thud of hammers against thick, metal nails and the slap of heavy pine boards falling against structural supports. He smiled and nodded, remembering his father's words that morning as he'd scooped up Adam's initial drawings for the new Landry barn and slipped them into his saddle bag. "Do all that needs to be done in Virginia City, Adam," Ben had said. "I promise that not one board or nail will be used beyond what you've drawn here on these papers. This new barn is your project, and it will be waiting for you when you're finished in town. And remember, everything you do or say in Virginia City could lead Jackson Findley to the Ponderosa, so be careful, son. Be very careful."

As he approached the gathering, Adam's heart sank at the sight of the singed shells that were, just days ago, the Landry house and barn. True to his word, Ben had supervised the work on the barn, ensuring that the only work done on that first day was the main framing and the stacking of tomorrow's supplies. To Adam's liking, the debris from the barn and house was being loaded into several buckboards and carted out of sight and the support structure for the house was already standing tall and sturdy. _Virginia City sure can come together for one of its own! Guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's one of the things I missed while I was away. _Adam rode closer, slid down from Sport's back, and tethered him alongside Buck. _From what Joe tells me, people did all they could for Pa and him when . . . when Hoss died. Damn it! Those words just don't ring of reality in my head, or in my heart. _After washing out the mounting ash-prickle in the back of his throat with several gulps from his canteen, Adam screwed the cap onto the spout and slung the strap over his saddle horn. _Let's hope that Virginia City finds a way to accept the gift Hoss left behind. A loving woman and the child he'll never know._ Leaning against Sport, Adam sighed heavily.

"Adam!" Ben called, waving from across the yard and rushing through the mass of volunteers and supplies toward his son. "How are things in town?" he asked, lowering his voice and looking about for prying ears.

Adam folded his arms, his wary eyes darting from side to side as he explained all he'd learned from Roy and what he'd done about Amanda's hotel suite. "And as soon as there's a reply, Nate will bring it to one of us at the ranch."

Ben looked pleased, but the lines around his chestnut eyes creased deeper with his every thought. "That's good, Adam," Ben said. "I don't think we have to worry about Amos or Nate. They're both good men and a promise of discretion from both of them is good enough for me."

Adam scratched the side of his neck. "There is one thing, Pa," he said. "Clem brought it up, but I'd been thinking about it, too."

"What is it?" Ben asked.

"Amanda," Adam replied. "How long are we going to be able to keep Findley's escape a secret? She hasn't been confined to bed rest and from what I've seen, she isn't going to be easy to fool. She's learned a harsh lesson in trusting Jackson Findley, and right now . . ."

"She has no reason," Ben interrupted, "other than Hoss's word, to trust any of us."

"Exactly," Adam agreed, "and if she senses that we're keeping something from her, it will only serve to make matters worse."

They paused in silence and neither Ben nor Adam heard the soft footfall of Bo Landry. "Excuse me, Mr. Cartwright," the boy said.

Both men answered, "Yes?" and quickly broke into grins despite the somber stare from the elder Landry son.

"I guess it don't matter which one," Bo said. "My ma wants to see ya both." The boy turned hurriedly and stomped his way back to his mother's side.

"That one is going to take a lot of patience!" Adam remarked as he snatched the rest of his drawings from his saddle bags.

"Do what you can, son," Ben said, clapping a strong hand firmly against Adam's back.

"I will, Pa," Adam said as they dodged several men toting thick, wide boards toward the house. "But right now, I have something much more important on my mind, and I know you do too."

Ben nodded and moved in closer. "We have to be careful, Adam," he whispered. "It has to appear as though there's nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to concern us except the running of the ranch and the rebuilding of the Landry homestead. But you're right. Every fiber of my being says that we should all be together at the house until that murderer is behind bars!"

"Well, for now," Adam said, "let's get these plans over to the men working on the barn and find out what Mrs. Landry wanted to see us about. We still have a little time before supper. Maybe we can get one of the walls up before everyone heads home for the day."

"Adam," Mrs. Landry said, staring up at his smiling face as he approached the beginnings of her new barn, "I still can't believe that you've come back home after all those years! I'll bet your father and brothers . . . um, I mean your . . . Oh, Adam, I'm so sorry."

Ben cringed as Mrs. Landry's horrified eyes pleaded for forgiveness from Adam.

"It's alright, Mrs. Landry," Adam assured. "Pa and Joe were quite surprised when I showed up on the doorstep. And I must say it is good to be home again."

Ben watched as, once again, Adam quickly buried his feelings and turned on his natural, protective charm.

"I'm thankful that you and your sons were spared from the fire," Adam said, "and I'm glad that my homecoming coincides with helping to rebuild your home. And speaking of your sons, I was hoping that Bo might be willing to help me with some of the details for the barn."

"Oh, Adam!" she cried, excited at the prospect of her wayward son spending time with the stalwart Adam Cartwright. "That would be wonderful! Would you like me to get him now?"

Adam grinned, his eyes sparkling at her enthusiasm. "If you wouldn't mind, and then we can get started with that north wall. With any luck, we'll have it up before we call it a day."

"Bo? Bo?" Mrs. Landry called. "I'll go find him, Adam." She took three steps before spinning to face Adam. "Thank you!"

Adam smiled and nodded as she turned again and went off in search of her eldest son.

"You've made a young widow very happy," Ben said, startling Adam from behind.

"Geez, Pa!" Adam said, searching for his breath. "You shouldn't sneak up on a body that way!"

"I don't sneak," Ben said, "I tread lightly!"

Father and son enjoyed a brief laugh before Mrs. Landry returned with a reluctant Bo in tow.

"Here he is Ada . . . Mr. Cartwright," she said, nudging the boy when he failed to show respect to an elder.

"Hello, Mr. Cartwright," Bo said. "My ma says I gotta work over here now."

Ben made himself busy with the papers Adam had spread across the table. He fought back a grin as he wondered how Adam would handle the young boy and his worrisome attitude.

"Bo, I hear you're good with numbers," Adam said, looking purposefully at the boy doing his best to avoid Adam's gaze.

"Bo!" Mrs. Landry shouted. "Look at Mr. . . ."

Ben grasped Emma's forearm, shook his head, and waited for Adam's first move.

"I'm speaking to you, Bo," Adam said calmly, "and I expect your attention when I do so."

Bo's body stiffened and his eyes darted back and forth along the ground.

"I know you heard me, boy," Adam said, raising his volume slightly.

Bo raised his eyes to Adam's. "Sorry, sir," Bo whispered, surprised when the older man's gaze softened considerably.

"That's better," Adam said, reaching for the plans to the barn. "Now, if you'll look here and here, you'll see that I've worked three stalls into the space where your old barn had only two. This line shows the separation walls here and here and here. Now, do you think that will serve your mounts as well as the old design?"

Bo was speechless. Not only did he understand what Adam Cartwright had said, but he was pretty sure he understood the drawings, the figures, and the spacing that Adam referenced.

"It's alright," Adam said, "if you don't understand . . ."

"Oh, but I do, Mr. Cartwright!" Bo announced proudly. "I really do! And it's good that the stalls are the same size, even though Matt's pony is much smaller than my horse and Ma's, too, 'cause his horse will grow to be almost as big as mine and this way, the stall will fit him when he's grown!"

Adam grinned and his eyes beamed. "That is very good, forward thinking, Bo!" Adam said, leaning one elbow against the corner of the paper plans. "Now, if you look over here," he said, fighting off a chuckle as Bo mirrored his position, "we could move the feed bins to the left, or we could leave them as they are. Since you and Matt will be the ones doing most of the feeding, which side do you think would be best?"

Ben hooked his arm in Emma's and pulled her toward the empty Ponderosa buckboard.

"Oh, Ben!" she cried. "I haven't heard that boy utter a civil sentence in weeks! And in just a few minutes, your son has my son looking up at him the way he used to look up to his own father!"

"Yeah," Ben agreed watching Adam and Bo as they conversed in the distance, "Adam did a real fine job of . . ."

A soft blubber escaped Emma's lips. Embarrassed, she quickly covered her face in her hands.

"Oh, Emma," Ben said, his hands on her shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I know how much you miss Asa, believe me, I do."

"Oh, Ben," Emma cried. "Of all of the people in Virginia City, I know that you truly do understand. And I'm trying to move forward as best I can, but with the boys showing their grief by acting up and the fire and . . . and now, everyone being here to help and Adam taking Bo under his wing!"

Ben slid his hand into his pocket and when his fingertips touched the edge of his handkerchief, he pulled it loose and handed it to Emma.

Gently, he touched her arm and led her out of view of the neighbors and friends working at the ranch and further between the Ponderosa wagon and the one hitched to a team of skittish horses.

"Thank you, Ben," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "I didn't mean to . . ."

The remainder of Emma's comment was lost as, without warning, the agitated horses tethered to the wagon adjacent to Ben's spooked and suddenly bolted, shifting the rotten and charred boards that had been stacked in the wagon.

"Ben, watch out!" Roy yelled from across the yard as the load leaned and then toppled toward Ben and Emma. Roy watched in desperate horror as Ben grabbed Emma's waist with one arm and raised the other in a vain attempt to shield them from the cascading lumber. But it was no use. What seemed a mountain of criss-crossed, charred planks covered Ben Cartwright and Emma Landry.

"Pa!" Adam shouted as he sprinted between the wagons. Several pairs of hands groped and grabbed at the fallen wood, and shouted orders and pleas stifled the workers gathered around the wagons and debris.

"Pa!" Adam cried as he grasped one of the final three boards that covered his father and Mrs. Landry.

"Ma!" Bo yelled as Roy caught and held the boy at bay, his shoulders wriggling in the sheriff's strong hands.

Matt Landry pushed his way through the small crowd, stopping next to his older brother.

"I'm alright!" Ben yelled as Adam helped him from the ground.

"Emma?" Ben cried as he reached down for the woman he'd sheltered from the falling rubble with his own body. "Did I hurt you?"

Emma coughed and pushed her shoulders from the ground. "No, Ben!" she said. "I'm fine. Just a little shaken."

Ben raised her effortlessly from the ground, and as she brushed off her skirt and blouse, he watched her for any signs of distress. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she replied.

"Pa, are you sure . . ." Adam asked, halting mid-sentence as his hand slid into a warm, wet spot along Ben's left upper arm. "Pa, you're bleeding!"

"What? Huh?" Ben said, craning his neck toward his arm. "I thought I'd just bruised it."

"Oh, Ben!" Emma cried. "You were so busy protecting me and now you're hurt!"

Ben held Emma back from her advances toward his injury. "It's alright, Emma," he insisted. "Just a flesh wound."

Roy released Bo, gathered a bucket of clean water and several torn strips of fabric, and appeared next to Adam. "Let's get that arm cleaned up, Ben, and then I think we should all call it a day. It's getting close to supper time and those of us who can will meet back here in the morning." Roy handed the bucket and cloth to Adam. "Why don't we get him into the buckboard and do what we can for that arm?"

Adam nodded and together they reached for Ben, ready to hoist him into the buckboard.

"Adam, Roy, I'm fine!" Ben grumbled, shaking his head. "It's just a flesh wound. I'm perfectly capable of standing right here until we're ready to go."

Emma, Bo, and Matt stepped close to the wagon. "Oh, Ben," Emma said, "I'm so sorry this happened! Is there anything my boys and I can do?"

"Now, Emma," Ben said, "don't you worry yourself over this. I'll be just fine and I expect I'll see you and your boys back here first thing in the morning! And Bo, I'm sure that Adam's going to need your help again, isn't that right son?"

"My father's right, Bo," Adam replied, keeping a watchful eye on his father's bleeding arm. "I would appreciate your help in the morning, unless you've got something . . ."

"No, sir, Mr. Cartwright!" Bo said. "I'll be here!"

Adam smiled, leaned against the buckboard, and winked at his father.

"Oh," Ben added, "and Matt, Joe and our foreman, Mr. Canaday, will be needing some help rounding up your strays. Do you think you could recommend someone to help them?"

Matt stared at his feet and kicked at the dirt on the ground.

"They'll need someone who's familiar with the animals you lost during the fire," Ben said, wincing as he rested his back against the side of the wagon, "someone who knows the area and would be willing to . . ."

"Could I do it, Mr. Cartwright?" Matt asked shyly. "Could I go along with Mr. Cartwright and Mr. Canaday?"

Adam grinned at Emma. "Oh, I don't know about that, Matt," Adam said, turning his attention back to his father. "Pa, don't you think they'll be needing someone that can ride tall in the saddle and keep on riding for several hours at a time?"

Before Ben could answer, Bo walked closer and stopped next to Ben. "My brother Matt's a real good rider, Mr. Cartwright. And he knows all of the livestock we lost better 'en me or Ma!"

"Thanks, Bo," Matt said. "Can I, Ma? Can I, Mr. Cartwright?"

Adam's eyebrows lifted as he shook his head. _Well, whatdaya know! Pa was right. Again. Sounds like these boys just needed to know someone believes in them the way their pa did. Guess I've always known how good that feels._

"Emma," Ben said, suddenly looking tired and uncomfortable. "If you have no objections, I'd say we've found our third rider!"

"No objections, Ben," Emma said, her voice catching on every word.

"Well, then," Adam said, "Joe, Candy, and I will be back first thing in the morning, and before you can protest Pa, you'll be staying at the Ponderosa until that arm is healed."

"Ben," Roy said as Adam tied Sport and Buck to the back of the buckboard, "I'll be watching for that uh . . . package you ordered and as soon as I get word that it's on its way to Virginia City, I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Roy," Ben replied as his vision teetered slightly from side to side. He grasped onto the edge of the wagon and with his uninjured arm, reached up to wipe the sweat forming on his brow.

Roy watched as Adam folded a blanket into a rectangle and placed it against the back corner of the buckboard. He waited while Adam walked his father to the back of the wagon and when Ben lurched forward, Roy scrambled next to his friend.

"Ben?" Roy whispered. "You look a might fevered, my friend."

"I'm sure it's just the heat of the late afternoon, Roy," Ben said.

Roy offered his hand and together, he and Adam steered a willing Ben to the back of the wagon, and once inside, Adam slid the make-shift cushion behind his father's back and gently examined the injury to his arm. Ben winced and drew in a sharp breath as Adam ripped his shirt to expose the puncture wound near his shoulder.

Roy crawled into the wagon next to Adam. "How's it look, Adam?" he asked.

Adam glanced at Roy, their eyes silently agreeing that the wound had been caused by a nail from one of the rotted, burned boards from the Landry barn.

"Not too bad, Roy," Adam said, his worried face belying his words. "Hand me that bucket and those bandages, and I'll get this cleaned up a bit before we start for home."

Ben flinched when the fabric surrounding his wound was ripped loose from his sleeve. "Sorry, Pa," Adam said as he carefully wiped the area with a clean, wet cloth and quickly wrapped it in a bandage. Adam hopped down from the wagon and with one last look at his father, turned toward the front of the buckboard.

"He doesn't look too good, Adam," Roy said quietly as they walked forward. "I'll send Paul out just as soon as I git back to town."

"Thanks, Roy," Adam said, looking over his shoulder at his father.

Ben's eyes were closed and the bandages Adam had used to dress his wound already showed signs of blood soaking through.

"Roy," Adam said, "I think you'd better hurry."


	38. Chapter 38 - A Guest In The House

**CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT**

**_A GUEST IN THE HOUSE_**

"My father says to move you to one of the upstairs guest rooms," Joe said curtly as he set the last of the pink-trimmed china plates in place at the dining table. Having spent the morning and afternoon on a quest for friendly conversation, Joe's usual, polite manners were wearing thin.

"That's fine," Amanda said snappily. She slid one of the plates Joe had just put down an inch or so to the left and struggled to keep from laughing when she heard Joe sigh. "When Adam returns with my things, I'm sure he'll help me with them, being the gentleman that he is."

Joe stared at the adjusted plate. "You know, my father won't be pleased to know that you've insisted on helping me with dinner." Joe slid a fifth chair into place around the table. "As I told you several times, he doesn't much like it when a guest in the house, especially one who's . . ."

"Who's what, Joe?" Amanda snapped as she pressed against the chair with her thigh, sliding it an inch of so further toward the table.

Joe slammed the cloth napkins against the table. Amanda turned her head and snickered at his frustration.

"I was going to say especially a guest who's had long journey to get here, not to mention a fainting spell upon her arrival!"

Amanda ignored Joe's comment, sauntered past him, and marched into the kitchen. He followed behind her like a determined child.

"Did you hear what I said?" he asked as the basket of silverware she thrust at him landed against his stomach.

"Yes, Joe," she replied, "I heard you. And I heard you bright and early this morning when you said I had no business being in Hop Sing's kitchen." Amanda added salt and pepper shakers to the basket Joe held at arm's length. "And I heard you, mid morning, when you said I should have asked you to get me a glass of water instead of helping myself." Amanda lifted the delicate sugar bowl lid and, satisfied with the amount of sweetener inside, clanked the lid back onto the bowl and placed it next to the shakers. "And," she said, "I heard you after lunch when you _ordered_ me to my room to take a nap!"

"Uh, Joe, what's going on in here?" Candy asked, startling both Joe and Amanda before closing the side kitchen door. "I was coming in to wash up and see if I could help with dinner and I could hear Amanda's voice clean out in the middle of the yard! You know she's supposed to be taking it easy! Your father said . . ."

"Oh, Candy Canaday, don't you start, too!" Amanda yelled, her face quickly showing the heat she was feeling. "If one more person in this house tells me I am a guest and therefore should sit like a helpless, frightened church mouse and not help with cooking meals or setting a table or even getting myself a glass of water, I will scream!"

"I'd say you're about there now," Candy whispered.

Amanda's blue eyes flashed anger as she glared at Candy and he took one long stride, backing away from the angry woman.

"And just because I fainted yesterday," Amanda continued as she marched into the dining room carrying the coffee carafe with Joe and Candy on her heels, "does not mean I'm a weak, dainty woman who can't contribute, whether she's a guest or not, to help a houseful of men who, by the way, still aren't completely convinced that I'm not an untoward con woman with some money-stealing scheme as her purpose, by preparing a few simple meals!"

"She's got a point, Joe," Candy murmured, nodding his head. "None of us can actually cook."

This time it was Joe who glowered at Candy as he slammed the basket atop the table.

Amanda turned an angry face to Candy and Joe. "And if I have to hear, just one more time, how when you're a guest in this house, Ben Cartwright . . ."

"PA!" Joe cried as Ben, his left arm slung tightly around Adam's waist and his right arm hanging limply at his side, appeared next to the credenza by the front door.


	39. Chapter 39 - Tending The Father

**CHAPTER THIRTY NINE**

**_TENDING THE FATHER_**

"PA! What happened?" Joe cried as he rushed to his father's side and slipped a supportive arm next to Adam's.

"I'm alright, Joseph," Ben assured, his voice weary and gravelly. "Nothing more than a little nick on my arm."

"Let's get him upstairs," Adam said, leading his father and Joe toward the staircase. Seeing Joe and Candy's worried faces, Adam added, "Some rubble landed on him at the Landry's. Just an accident is all."

Candy sighed. "I'll ride for the doc," he said rushing toward the front door.

"Just take care of the horses, Candy," Adam called. "Roy's already getting Paul."

"Done," Candy said as he grabbed hold of the doorknob. He stopped and turned toward Amanda. "I'm sure Mr. Cartwright could use a woman's touch on that arm, if you don't mind."

Amanda nodded. "I'll need some water and bandages and alcohol to clean the . . ."

"I'll get everything we'll need," Joe said, turning his father over to Adam's care before hurrying to the kitchen.

Adam called out to Amanda. "Joe will bring everything up to Pa's room. Amanda, please, would you help?"

Amanda nodded and followed along to Ben's bedroom.

"That'll work!" Candy thought. "With me out in the barn and Adam and Joe out of their heads with worry, the last thing we need is to leave Amanda down here alone, unguarded." Candy stopped before closing the door, stepped back inside and slipped his gun belt from the credenza. "Better safe than sorry."

Drawers were left awry and doors hung open as Joe hurriedly left the kitchen and rushed upstairs to his father's bedroom. He stopped in the hallway just outside the room and the sight of Amanda removing Ben's shirt sent a defensive wave coursing through his body.

"My brother and I can handle things from here," Joe announced as he set down the basin of water. "Why don't you just wait downstairs?"

"Joseph!" Ben snapped, softening his voice before continuing. "I'd like Amanda to stay right here."

Adam removed his father's boots while Amanda gently slid what remained of the shirt sleeve from Ben's arm.

"Joe," Amanda said, ignoring his request for her to leave, "would you wet a cloth and hand it to me? Please? And Adam, would you help me prop his back a bit? He really shouldn't lie flat.

"Really, I can sit up on my own!" Ben said, scooting himself up and smiling as Amanda slipped two pillows behind him.

Joe dipped a cloth into the warm water in the basin. "What makes you think he shouldn't lie flat? You aren't a doctor. Why don't we wait for Paul instead of pretending you know what you're doing?"

"Joe!" Adam scolded, pulling his stubborn brother aside. Adam lowered his voice to a worried whisper. "Pa was practically buried by rotted, charred planks and I'm pretty sure that a nail caused that gouge in his arm. Now, you know what that means. We need to get it cleaned up and fast. So, you can either help or get out of the way."

"But, Adam," Joe said, "what makes you think she knows what she's doing?"

"I know," Adam replied, "because before you got here, she eased Pa's mood, made him smile, and told us that she used to volunteer at one of the clinics in San Francisco."

"And you believe her?" Joe asked. "Just like that?"

"Yeah, Joe," Adam said. "I believe her, just like that. And while you're trying to figure out why you don't, Amanda and I will be tending to Pa's arm."

Although Ben's room was spacious, both Ben and Amanda heard everything being said in hushed voices in the corner of the room and as Adam and Joe continued their discussion, Ben looked up at Amanda, his large, chocolate eyes begging forgiveness on behalf of his youngest son. Amanda smiled, but the hurt in her eyes was apparent.

"It's alright, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said softly as she poured whiskey onto a clean bit of cloth. "I'm not sure I'd believe my story if I didn't already know it was all true." Amanda looked directly into Ben's eyes. "I'm afraid this is going to sting, but it has to be done. I'll be as quick and as gentle as possible."

"Amanda," Ben said, staying her hand near his arm, "I don't believe that you could be anything but gentle. The fact that you're being so gracious in the face of Joe's uncertainty says much about your character."

"I'm not being gracious, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said quietly, her eyes cast in Joe's direction. "Joe's grieving his brother, and he misses him, as we all do. Sometimes, they're the same thing and other times, they're two separate forms of sadness. I can see how much he loved Hoss. And I know now why Hoss loved him as much as he did." Amanda smiled as she watched Adam leaning against the large, pine dresser, his arms crossed at his chest. "He loved them both so very much." Looking back at Ben, Amanda's eyes threatened to spill over. "Now, may I take care of that arm, Mr. Cartwright?"

Ben nodded. "Yes, dear."

Ben's simple words moved Amanda. _He's so much like Hoss. _

Amanda dabbed at the wound on Ben's arm and he winced as the alcohol reached its target. His movement brought Adam and Joe to his side, and as Amanda saturated the cloth yet again, Joe sat next to his father, intent on watching Amanda's every move.

"Adam," Amanda said softly, "I need to wash the wound a little more thoroughly. It's not as bad as it could have been, but in case Doctor Martin is tied up with another patient, I think we should do everything we can."

Adam paled. He knew what needed to be done and he knew that it was going to be far from pleasant. For Amanda, Adam's pallor only confirmed the love Hoss's older brother held for his father; a love that Adam kept tucked safely inside.

With the whiskey bottle in hand, Amanda sat on the bed next to Ben, her hesitation prompting Adam to reach for the container.

"I'll do it," Adam said, wrapping his fingers around the base of the bottle.

"No, Adam," Amanda said. "I can do it. Mr. Cartwright, I'm going to wash that arm. I need you to remain as still as possible."

Ben inhaled, steeling himself as Amanda raised the bottle to his arm. The moment the whiskey trickled into the wound, every muscle in Ben's body tightened and his head pressed back against his pillows. The sting was intense, but brief, and he felt the liquid working its way deep into the wound. His eyes filled with tears that seeped through his clenched eyelids. The second dribble of whiskey stung more than the first, and Ben gasped as the blazing liquid reached deeper into his wound and he nodded his thanks when Adam dabbed his brow with a cool cloth.

"Once more, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said. "I can give you a moment, if you like."

"No, dear," Ben replied, his pained eyes softening as he looked up at her. "Let's get it done."

Amanda nodded, and as she raised the bottle one last time, she saw Joe squeeze his father's hand. She watched, moved to tears when Ben gazed up at his youngest son and smiled. _Hoss, my love, you did not exaggerate. Your family will most definitely be a part of our child's life. She deserves the love I've seen here. Love that you would have given her, that will now come from her grandfather and uncles._

The final washing of Ben's wound was the most painful, and as she dressed the wound, Amanda found herself hoping that Doctor Martin would hurry and that he'd approve of the steps she'd taken so far. She watched Ben closely as she tied the bandages in place. Sweat beaded across his forehead and his eyes drooped with fatigue. As Joe smoothed the blankets covering his father, Adam tapped Amanda's shoulder and led her out into the hallway.

Adam, barely able to stand still, moved close to Amanda before speaking. "I know what I think," he said. "What about you?"

Amanda grasped his forearm. "Adam," she said, hoping to hold off on her true thoughts until Doctor Martin arrived, "I meant it when I said it could have been worse. It's deep, but clean. And that's the most important thing right now."

"It's been about three hours since it happened," Adam said, pulling away from Amanda and pacing just outside of Ben's room. "Where the hell is Paul?"

"Adam," Amanda said, "he'll be here. And in the meantime, we'll let your father rest and sleep when he can. I'll go down and get him some broth, and I'll bring some food for you and Joe."

"Thank you," Adam said.

Amanda smiled. "I know better than to suggest that the two of you come down to the table. In fact, I'm surprised that you've stepped this far from his room!"

Adam sighed. "I guess we can be overbearing when one of our own is hurt."

"Not overbearing," Amanda assured. "Loving." Amanda gave Adam's arm a tug, and as Adam watched, she headed down the hallway toward the staircase.

"Candy's in the barn!" Adam thought. "Amanda! Wait!" he called as he followed her to the upstairs landing.

"What is it, Adam?" Amanda cried, turning at his sudden command.

"I uh . . . wanted to . . ."

The front door opened and as Adam stepped in front of Amanda, Candy sauntered inside, stopping immediately to hang his jacket next to Joe's.

"Adam?" Amanda said. "You wanted to what?"

Adam sighed and nodded to Candy. "I wanted to be sure you knew that Pa's the only one who sugars his coffee."

Amanda furrowed her brow. "Alright, Adam. I'll be sure to bring the sugar dish for your father." Amanda started down only to be stopped by Adam's voice.

"Amanda," he said, "thank you."

"No need, Adam," she replied. "No need at all."


	40. Chapter 40 - Changing Plans

**CHAPTER FORTY**

**_CHANGING PLANS_**

"Bring the bottle this time, honey," Hiller said, rocking back in his chair to pinch the young saloon girl as she turned to walk away. "Wouldn't want ya ta wear yerself out walkin' back 'n' forth!"

Hiller shuffled the edge-worn deck of cards he'd been fiddling with for the past hour, his eyes following the sway of the girl's hips as she weaved her way between the circular tables and crowded chairs in the Devil's Grin Saloon. He'd arrived early, having purchased and loaded supplies into the rented buckboard and now, Hiller found himself glancing at the door more often than not. _"Be at the saloon at five o'clock sharp. Don't be late. You know I don't like it when someone's late!" So, I'm here, Findley. Where the hell are you?_

"Now you've gone 'n' hurt my feelin's!" the young girl said as she plopped a full bottle of whiskey in front of Hiller's hands.

"Huh?" Hiller mumbled. His eyes still trained on the batwing saloon doors.

"Honey, you've been starin' at them doors ever since I brought ya yer first drink!" she whined as her skirts swished into place on her chair. "You've got no manners! You ain't even asked me my name! And here I am, waitin' on ya without so much as a howd'ya do! Ain't I good enough for ya? Somethin' better about to walk through them doors?"

"Well, how 'bout instead of me askin' yer name, I give ya a little advice?" Hiller smirked.

The girl glared curiously at Hiller.

"Yer not the brightest little thing and yer certainly not the prettiest," Hiller said, "and if you wanna keep breathin' in a town like Pioche, I suggest you keep yer so-called manners to yerself 'n' do what the owner hired ya ta do! Now, git over here 'n' put that caboose o' yers on my lap where it outta've been fer the last hour!"

"Well," she sighed, "I never!"

"Now that's the tallest tale I've heard in a long time!" Hiller laughed.

The girl stormed across the room and as Hiller rose to go after her, he froze at the sight of an angry Jackson Findley shoving his way through the saloon. _That is not the look I expected ta see on Jackson's ugly face!_

"Sit down, Hiller!" Jackson bellowed, his voice carrying above the din of the ignoring crowd. He yanked an empty chair from a nearby table and scraped it slowly across the dusty floor. "I see you had the sense to get me my bottle. Where's my glass, you stupid fool?"

Hiller balled his fist and quickly thought better of his natural urges. Two steps brought him close to a table seated by three men who'd obviously spent the afternoon lost in the four empty bottles on their table. Hiller snarled as he snatched one of the glasses stacked on their table and none of the men dared to object.

Hiller turned back to his table, and fell immediately under the angry glare of Jackson Findley. "Take that glass," he said, pointing to the one he'd already used. "It's yours. This one's mine."

Findley sat cautiously in his chair, scanning the saloon's patrons for any familiar or threatening faces.

"Nobody's paid me no nevermind," Hiller assured, wondering what had the usually calm and collected Findley so nervous.

"Can't be too careful," Findley said. "You'd do well to remember that, Hiller! Now, did ya get the supplies?"

"'Course I did!" Hiller snapped. "Everything's right where it should be. Now what's got you so all fired jumpy?"

"You mean besides the fact that I broke outta prison?" Jackson snarled. "Not a worry here in Pioche."

"Then what is it?" Hiller asked, his patience wearing thin.

"Got a message from one of my . . . friends," Jackson said. "Seems my lovely wife has taken herself a trip to Virginia City."

"Whah?" Hiller said, nearly spilling the whiskey he was pouring. "Why would she go there? You don't think she knows . . ."

"No!" Jackson yelled, quickly reigning in his temper as he sipped his whiskey. "There's no possible way she could know about our 'guest'. But her little visit changes things and now I've got some thinkin' to do."

Despite knowing Jackson's volatile temperament, Hiller couldn't resist the temptation to speak his mind. "Well now, plans come and go and circumstances change, but it seems ta me that if you want what's rightfully yours – that pretty little wife o' yours and all the money that comes with her – you'd best be keeping to the plan you spent a year workin' out. Unless you're afraid to go up against them Cartwrights!"

Hiller never even saw Jackson move until he felt Jackson's hands wrapped tightly around his neck. He yanked Hiller out of his chair and halfway across the table, the smell of whiskey blended with several days' of jerky, beans, and stale coffee assaulting Hiller's nose.

"You'd best watch what you say ta me, Hiller!" Jackson spat. "I ain't afraid of some old rancher and his two rich-boy sons. And there ain't a thing they can do ta keep me away from my wife and all that her precious daddy left her!" Jackson shoved Hiller back into his chair. "And after I've given Amanda the wedding night we never had, I just might dump her and our 'guest' right on the Ponderosa doorstep! Won't that be a nice present for old man Cartwright? His dead son and his dead son's woman right on the porch of the great Ponderosa!"


	41. Chapter 41 - A Brother Knows

**CHAPTER FORTY ONE**

**_A BROTHER KNOWS_**

"Doc Martin's been in there a long time," Joe said, still pacing the length of the hearth.

Adam, his elbows propped against his thighs, sat on the large pine table staring beyond the fire, fixated on the fierce clash between flames and pine and searching for answers from a distant voice.

"He has been in there for quite some time," Amanda agreed. "I imagine it's a blessing for Virginia City that you have such a thorough doctor in town."

Adam smiled, his chin resting atop steepled fingers. _She managed to avoid challenging Joe's impatience and give him a reason for why Paul is taking so long. Sounds like something Pa would do. Pa . . . or Hoss._

"I guess the doc won't take any chances," Joe said, his voice full of fatigue and worry, "but I sure wish we knew how Pa's doing. Should I go up there and see if he needs anything?"

"Paul will let us know what he needs, Joe," Adam assured. "Why don't you sit down before you wear yourself out and end up as Paul's next patient!"

Amanda recognized something in Joe that both impressed her and touched her heart. _He's impatient, just as Hoss described, but more than that, he needs to feel useful. Heaven knows, I've felt that need most of my life, and it gets me into trouble; like when I insist on helping when my help isn't wanted. He's so worried. He needs something to occupy his mind for a bit. Maybe if I . . . _"I expect Doctor Martin might want some coffee before he starts back to Virginia City. Would it be alright if I made some?"

Joe's ritual pacing came to an abrupt halt, and when he walked closer to the settee, Adam craned his neck, his gaze following his younger brother.

"You want to go back into Hop Sing's kitchen and make coffee?" Joe snapped, his fear for his father pushing him quickly to the edge.

Adam spun his backside on the table, rotating slowly toward his brother.

Amanda's head rose and when Joe saw her tired eyes and her hand resting gently on her stomach, his approach took on a different air. "You uh . . . you look tired. I'll get the coffee," he said, turning his attention to Adam. "You call me if Paul comes down those stairs!"

"Sure thing, Joe," Adam promised as he watched Joe walk away. Once out of sight, Adam directed his attention to Amanda. Scratching the side of his neck, Adam said, "You're pretty good at that."

"Good at what?" Amanda asked innocently.

Adam sighed, a soft chuckle floating from his mouth. "Good at calming Little Joe when he's about to bust! You knew he'd offer to make the coffee. The way you handled that reminds me a lot of . . ."

"Hoss," Amanda said, her voice sweetly caressing the name.

"Yeah . . ." Adam reflected, his voice tender and far away, "Hoss."

Amanda sat forward on the settee and lowered her voice yet again. "Adam, I won't pretend to know everything there is to know about Joe, but I can tell you this: Hoss spent a lot of our time together entertaining me with stories of his little brother; his Shortshanks."

The nickname tugged sharply at Adam's heart and he winced at the longing deep in his soul. "Haven't heard that name in . . . too long."

"I'm sorry, Adam," Amanda whispered, "I didn't mean to . . . well, I . . . I just meant to say that since I've been here and spent some time with Joe, I can honestly say that Hoss's reflections of Joe were more than accurate. They were astounding!"

"Yeah," Adam replied. "At times, Hoss was insightful beyond belief. He saw the good in people before most of us even thought to look for it and when someone hurt him, he felt that hurt deeper than I can even imagine."

"Joe feels things that way, too, Adam. Especially when it comes to his family," Amanda said. _And from what Hoss said, so Adam, do you._

"How so?" Adam asked, hoping for some insight of his own into the woman sitting across from him.

"I think Hoss keeping me and our love for one another a secret hurt Joe more than we can imagine," Amanda said, wringing her hands as she spoke, "and Hoss isn't here to calm Joe's fear."

"I'm confused," Adam said, running his hand through the curls at the base of his neck. "Do you think Joe's hurt or afraid?"

"Both," Amanda replied. "I think Joe's hurt that Hoss kept something from him and afraid he'll never know the real reason why because Hoss himself isn't here to explain." Amanda smiled and sighed. "I think that, so far, Joe likes me. A little. But he doesn't want to. And he feels guilty for not being able to welcome the mother of Hoss's child with open arms."

Adam's eyebrows raised as he snickered softly. "In such a short time, I have to say that you know my brother pretty well."

"Which brother?"

"Both of them," Adam admitted, "and that makes me wonder how well you know my father and me."

Amanda laughed. "Well, I haven't just spent the day hoping to get your father to accept me! And I certainly haven't spent enough time with you either!"

"My father has accepted you, Amanda," Adam said. "You and your child. And as soon as he's better, he'll welcome you both with open, sincere arms that will make you feel more loved than you thought possible."

Amanda blinked, sending a tear down her left cheek. "Hoss said practically those same words. And he said that when he brought me here, I'd need to respect Joe's feelings, but also that I needed to stand up to him; to show him that I belonged here and once I did, Joe would fold me into his life like a treasure and that anyone who dared to threaten one of Joe's treasures was in for the fight of their life!"

Adam's lips curled into a far away smile.

"Hoss knew," Amanda continued, "that Joe would have a difficult time forgiving the secrecy. And boy was he right!"

Adam laughed as his gaze trailed off toward the front door. Avoiding Amanda's eyes, Adam cleared his throat, his mind overwhelmed with memories and unanswered questions. _Hoss told her quite a bit, but he didn't expect to find me back here on the Ponderosa. I wonder if he talked about . . . _

"If that coffee I smell is almost done, I sure could use a cup," Paul said as he descended the staircase.

At the sound of Paul's voice, Adam flew to his feet.

"I'll get Joe," Amanda offered as she hurried toward the kitchen, nearly colliding with Joe and the tray of coffee in his hands.

"Hey! Slow down," Joe said, working to balance the tray as it teetered to and fro.

"Sorry, Joe," Amanda said. "I was coming to tell you that Doctor Martin's come down. Here, let me take the tray."

Joe nodded and gratefully handed the tray off before rushing to the living room; Amanda wasn't far behind.

"How is he, Paul?" Adam asked as Paul crossed the room.

"Should Pa be alone up there?" Joe asked, his eyes fixed on the landing at the top of the staircase.

"I could sit with him," Amanda offered, "if that's alright."

"Or I could," Candy said, walking in from the kitchen as he dried his hands on one of Hop Sing's towels. "The horses are settled in and the evening chores are all done." Candy continued to the stairs.

"Wait, Candy. He's asleep right now," Paul said, reaching for the cup Amanda had poured, "and it would be best if he stayed that way. He's alright up there, alone. Aside from the wound on his arm, he's exhausted." Paul sipped from his cup and dipped his head in approval. "From what I was able to drag out of him, Ben hasn't slept much, if at all, for two days. The puncture to his arm is deep, but it was cleansed thoroughly. Mrs. Findley, I understand that it's you I should thank for that."

Amanda blushed as she handed a cup to Adam. "You're welcome, Doctor Martin," she said, "but I'm sure that Adam and Joe would have done just fine without me."

"Well, you may be right," Paul said, "but if I know Ben, he'd much rather be tended to by a lovely young lady than these two! Either way, Ben's wound is clean, sutured, and bandaged."

"What do we do from here, Paul?" Adam asked, presenting the coffee pot with a questionable glance.

"No, no more, thank you," Paul said. "The bandages should be changed three times a day. After he's had some sleep and you've gotten a little food into him, he's free to move around. But just a little. Absolutely nothing too strenuous and someone should stay with him for the next seven days."

"Seven days?" Joe cried. "I thought you said he was alright!"

Adam, Candy, and Amanda exchanged knowing, worried glances.

"He is, Joe," Paul replied, "but there's always a risk of tetanus with a wound like this, and at times the symptoms don't make themselves apparent for a week, sometimes longer. Send for me if Ben develops a fever, if the wound opens, or if there are any red streaks on his arm."

"We will," Adam promised. "And thank you, Paul."

Paul swallowed the final sip from his cup. "No need, Adam. While I'm here, Mrs. Findley, I'd like to examine you," Paul added, making eye contact with both Joe and Adam, "and make sure there are no residual effects from yesterday. I trust that you've been able to enjoy a less stressful day today."

Paul's statement was more a question than a comment, and as Joe recalled the day, he hung his head shamefully.

"Joe and Candy shared the difficult task of keeping me entertained today," Amanda announced. "And not only did they allow me to cook supper, but they ate it without complaint!"

"She's a real fine cook, doc," Candy said. "And by the way, I moved a few things in the kitchen just now. You see, Hop Sing will be back any minute and well, I know better than to leave evidence out in the open."

"Evidence?" Amanda asked.

"Oh, yeah," Candy said, his eyebrows raised and his head bobbing up and down. "See, Hop Sing really doesn't like it when anyone uses his kitchen. Visitors on the Ponderosa have been tried and convicted on less evidence than the two pots you hung up in the wrong direction!"

Amanda looked on in disbelief.

"I can attest to what Candy says," Paul added as laughter filled the room. "Maybe I'd better check on you and the baby now and with any luck, Hop Sing will come home while I'm still here. That way, if Candy here didn't clean up the scene of the crime as well as he thinks he did, I won't have to turn my buggy right around and come back to the Ponderosa!"

Amanda grinned and led Paul into the guest bedroom.

As the latch on the door clicked shut, a knock on the front door drove Adam and Joe to their gun belts. Candy pulled his pistol from the holster he still wore and leaned back against the wall next to the grandfather clock. He nodded once, and Joe cautiously approached the door.

"Who is it?" Joe yelled.

"It's Clem, Joe."

Joe opened the door as Candy and Adam breathed a sigh of relief and slid their guns back into place.

"Let's take this discussion up to my room," Adam said. "Amanda's in the guest room with Paul."

Once upstairs, in the privacy of Adam's bedroom, Clem handed a telegram to Adam's waiting hand. "Nate brought it over to the jail just as soon as it came through. Roy's seen it and he sent me out to give it to you."

Adam unfolded the paper and said a silent prayer that the contents confirmed what his father already believed – that Amanda Findley was the truthful, loving woman who'd captured Hoss's heart.


	42. Chapter 42 - Declarations

**CHAPTER FORTY TWO**

**_DECLARATIONS_**

"Well, Adam?" Joe asked, his usual impatience having held significantly longer than Adam could have anticipated.

Adam breathed a sigh of respite; this one telegram possessed the answers to some, but not all, of their questions. "It's from my friends in San Francisco. They made some inquiries, did a little subtle digging, and met to compare their findings before sending this wire."

"And?" Candy interrupted, anxious to confirm what his heart had been telling him.

"And," Adam said, "it says that Amanda Spencer Findley does indeed own and run a very profitable ranch just outside of San Francisco called The Lucky A. It goes on to say that Mrs. Findley's holdings are more than substantial, having grown markedly since the death of her father Edward just three years ago."

Candy grinned and fought off the strong urge to throw a snicker in Joe's direction.

Adam continued, the reading of the remainder of the telegram sobering his tone. "Jackson Findley once wealthy in own right. Squandered most of holdings before convicted. Accessory to murder of own father. Escaped prison. Remains at large. Dangerous. Repeat. Dangerous. Have spoken to Randall Binghamton. Attorney. Fear for Mrs. Findley rampant among her own. Heed warning, Adam. Danger present. Concerning final question. Since January this year, Mrs. Findley seen at several public, charity events in company of tall, stocky man. Be well, Adam. Be vigilant."

Candy's smile had faded as Adam read the wire, and as Joe moved to stare out the north window of Adam's room, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"You're sure of these contacts of yours?" Joe asked.

"Yes, Joe," Adam replied. "I trust that all three of them were diligent in their inquiries and that they would tell me nothing but the facts."

"She's telling the truth," Joe whispered, "isn't she, Adam?"

Adam shuddered at the defeated tone in Joe's voice. He turned slowly toward the window, expecting to see the young boy who'd so many times before come to him for answers: answers that Joe had already known yet questioned without the assurance of the older brother he admired beyond belief. "Yes, Joe," Adam said, "she is."

Joe continued to stare out of the window and beyond. He thought of Hoss and the disappointment he'd have shown – after all, Joe knew he'd been less than kind to Amanda since her arrival.

"This doesn't change anything we've set in motion, so far," Candy said, interrupting Adam and Joe's contemplations. "One of us stays with Amanda at all times, we move her into one of the spare rooms up here, and we keep an eye out for any news or signs of Jackson Findley."

"I agree," Adam said.

"And I should be back in town keeping me eyes and ears open," Clem said as he reached for the door. "You'll be the second ones to know if I have anything to report. I know my way out. Good night."

Adam, Joe, and Candy nodded their good nights, and Adam quietly closed the door behind Clem.

"How long can we keep Findley's escape from Amanda?" Joe asked.

"Well, she seems more than willing to help with tending to your father," Candy said.

Adam smiled. "And Pa doesn't seem to mind her attentiveness one little bit!"

"So," Candy laughed, "why don't we make it an official request that she be his nurse for the next few days? That should make her content to stay in the house."

"You're right," Adam agreed, "but I don't like the idea of keeping something this important from her. Up till now, she's been honest with us about everything . . ."

"Everything that we've been able to confirm," Joe added.

"Aw, come on, Joe," Adam said, waving his hand through the air. "You just said . . ."

"What I just said was that she's been truthful about her convict husband and her inherited fortune!" Joe yelled, pulling his voice back at the thought of his father just two doors down. "We still don't know for sure that she and Hoss . . . well, that they . . . We don't know if Hoss loved her!"

"What about the ring, huh?" Candy shouted in an angry whisper. "Aside from the fact that I just flat out believe her, how do you explain the inscription on that ring? Not to mention the things she knows about all of us and the stories she told us about things only Hoss would know?"

Adam recognized the fury building in Joe. He knew from experience that the quickest way to infuriate his little brother was to challenge him when someone else was present and the fact that the someone else was his big brother Adam didn't bode well for Candy's argument.

"Alright, that's enough!" Adam said, hoping to dampen the impending explosion. "We could argue all day and not have any more proof than we do right now."

Candy walked a small circle, his fists pressed tightly against his hips. "Yeah, well, some of us don't need any more proof . . ."

Joe stepped toward Candy. "Yeah, well, some of us aren't . . . "

"Don't, Joe!" Adam shouted as he moved between Candy and Joe, his open palm knocked away as he reached for Joe's chest.

"Let him finish, Adam," Candy yelled. "Some of us aren't what?"

"Joe!" Adam warned, staging himself evenly in Joe's path. "Don't!" Joe's eyes pierced Adam's. "Joe!"

"Never mind," Joe spat, spinning on his heels.

"Some of us aren't family!" Candy cried, pushing against Adam's impeding shoulder. "Some of us aren't Cartwrights!"

"Oh, brother!" Adam thought. "I stopped one but not the other!" He grasped Candy's shoulders. "Candy, he didn't mean . . ."

"I wasn't his brother!" Candy continued, pushing against Adam's solid grip. "That's what you meant, isn't it, Joe? I'm not a part of this family, so I shouldn't have an opinion like the rest of you!"

Hearing his thoughts aloud, Joe softened as guilt shivered across his prickled skin. "Candy," Joe said, facing his friend, "I didn't say . . ."

"You didn't say it, but you were thinkin' it!" Candy cried, his chest heaving.

"Alright, yeah, I was thinking it," Joe yelled. "And if it weren't for Adam, I would have said it!" Joe's bottom lip curled with emotion. "But I wouldn't have meant it," he shouted before relaxing his tone measurably, "'cause it's not true."

"Yeah, well . . . huh?" Candy said, the words casting a lasso around his emotions.

Adam turned to face Joe.

"Sometimes," Joe admitted, "I think and say things that I have no right to think or say! I didn't mean to imply that you aren't part of this family, 'cause you are."

Adam angled to face Candy.

"Yeah, well," Candy said calmly, "I shouldn't've tried to force something I believe onto you if you need more confirmation that it's true."

Adam changed direction yet again.

"I'm sorry, Candy," Joe said. "I guess I'm just not ready to accept that Hoss might have had this whole other life that none of us knew about."

This time, Adam stepped aside, letting Candy and Joe come face to face.

"I'd say it's more than a 'might have'," Candy said, his eyebrows raised high and his ornery blue eyes sparkling, "considerin' that little bit of evidence is due to arrive in a couple of months!"

"Yeah," Joe said, his voice trailing away, "in a couple of months."

Adam recognized the doubt remaining in Joe's voice. _For Uncle Joe's sake, let's hope that little blessing has blue eyes and is the spitting image of Hoss! _"We'd best get downstairs. Doc Martin oughta be finished by now."

Joe nodded. "So, we agree that we'll ask Amanda to take care of Pa tomorrow while one of us stays here and the other two go to the Landry's, right?"

"Yeah," Adam replied, "and we'll all be on the lookout for Findley or any other strangers hanging around."

"Agreed," Joe said, nodding his head.

Adam and Joe looked at a thoughtful Candy.

"Something else to add?" Adam asked.

"Huh?" Candy startled. "Oh, no, not really. The plan sounds good."

"Where were ya just now?" Joe asked.

"I dunno," Candy mumbled. "I just suddenly got a bad feeling. Probably nothing." _I hope . . ._


	43. Chapter 43 - Building Bridges

**CHAPTER FORTY THREE**

**_BUILDING BRIDGES_**

After Paul had left the Ponderosa, Amanda continued gladly accepted the request to spend the next few days watching over Ben, adding that she would enjoy getting to spend more time with "Hoss's pa".

Hop Sing had returned home and, after breaking his own rules and consenting to allow Amanda to help by setting the table for their late dinner, had prepared a meal that calmed the frayed nerves of everyone in the house.

"Your father ate more than I thought he would," Amanda announced as she ladled soup from the shiny, white porcelain tureen, "but I'm sure it was nowhere near as much as his usual diet. His color is good and he's showing no signs whatsoever of fever." Amanda glanced at Joe, his head down as he cut into his slice of roast beef. "He said he'd enjoy a game of checkers after dinner," she continued, yawning with an extended sigh before smiling knowingly across the table. "I'm sure I can stay awake for at least one game."

Adam glanced at Candy and, together, returned Amanda's smile.

"Pa does enjoy a good game of checkers," Adam added. He reached for a bowl and helped himself to a spoonful of peas. "Candy, you and I need to go over those figures from the feed store after dinner."

"Sure thing, Adam," Candy replied, fighting to keep the corners of his mouth at bay.

"Oh, and Adam," Amanda said in her most exhausted voice. "I recall that you mentioned moving my things to one of the guest rooms upstairs. That's a good idea, now that I'll be listening for your father. I'll be able to," Amanda stopped mid-sentence and yawned once again, "hear him any time night or day."

"Forgive me for saying so, Amanda," Adam said, leaning his elbows on the table, "but you look exhausted. Maybe you should tell Pa he'll just have to do without his game this evening."

Joe stopped chewing and looked at Amanda. "You do look pretty . . . worn out."

Amanda cocked her head at Joe's wording.

"Tired, that is," Joe explained, "and you shouldn't . . . I mean in your . . . Well, I could go up and play checkers with Pa this evening, if you'd rather rest."

Adam marveled at Amanda's approach. _She's no more exhausted this evening than I am! But she managed to give Joe exactly what he needs – time with Pa. _

"Oh, Joe," Amanda said, "are you sure you wouldn't mind? I hate to let your father down, but I am feeling rather tired and I wouldn't want him to see me like this."

Joe smiled up at Amanda. "You don't look so bad," he said, flinching at his own hurried words. "I mean, you look like a pretty gal who's gonna have a baby soon. And besides, Pa and I play checkers in the evening all the time. I'll just tell him I wanted to play and asked if you didn't mind."

"Thanks, Joe," Amanda said, throwing in another yawn for good measure. "I'm sure your father will appreciate you stepping in."

Candy winked at Adam. _The lady's good!_

Adam came from the kitchen toting the suitcase that Candy had unloaded from the buckboard earlier that day.

"I have your things from the hotel," Adam said. "Candy's out seeing to the horses and Joe's upstairs with Pa, so if you'd like, I can help get you settled into your new room."

"I'd like that," Amanda said, "if you're sure you won't be too busy with those feed store figures."

Adam scrunched his nose, scratched the side of his neck, and laughed. "Oh, yeah," he said, "I guess I forgot that Candy and I'd already settled those accounts."

"Why, Adam! You mean you and Candy were both available to play checkers this evening?" Amanda gasped, a grin on her face.

Adam shook his head. "Imagine that! Now, how about we get your things upstairs?"

"Let's go!" Amanda replied, springing up from the settee. "I am sorry to put you and Hop Sing to so much trouble."

"It's no trouble, Amanda," Adam promised as he followed her to the staircase. "And the same goes for Hop Sing. You've already got that man wrapped around your finger, you know! He's beside himself at the thought of having a lovely lady in the house." Adam tipped his head and nodded, and Amanda started up the steps. "And standing by while you set the table this evening was a major coup! He doesn't turn over his responsibilities to just anyone."

"In that case, I'm honored," Amanda said as she bounced lightly to the second floor of the house. Once on the upper landing, she stepped back, waiting for Adam to show her to one of the five closed bedroom doors and the room that would be her temporary home.

"Please, ladies first," Adam said, nudging his head toward the left end of the hallway. "It's the one just down there."

Amanda started for the last door on the left, reaching her hand toward the doorknob.

"Not that one!" Adam said suddenly, stepping quickly to catch up to Amanda. "That's Hoss's room."

Amanda took two paces backward, her eyes entranced by the closed, pine door. "I'm sorry," she whispered, staggering slightly until her hand rested atop the small lamp table along the wall. "I thought this was the one you meant."

Adam dropped his burden on the spot and rushed to her side. "Are you alright?" Adam asked, slipping his steadying arm around her waist.

"Yes, I . . . I think so," Amanda said, her eyes still locked on the doorway. "I just never . . . I guess I, I never thought about Hoss's room." Amanda leaned more heavily against the table. "Isn't that silly?" she giggled, her eyes boring into the wooden door. "It never even dawned on me when I was up here earlier today that his room would still be . . ." Slowly, her weight shifted into Adam's side as he grasped tightly and pulled her close. "How dim-witted you must think me! Of course, Hoss's room would be up here and . . ."

Adam found himself staring at the door. Memories of the knob rotating slowly and an adolescent Hoss cracking the opening just enough to let his Tahoe-blue eyes saturate the hallway with their glistening warmth covered Adam like the tender touch of a brother's love. Adam looked down as Amanda raised her head. He choked back the lump in his throat when he saw tears streaming from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Amanda. I should have led you to your room instead of just nodding in the direction. I'm so sorry."

Amanda shook her head and blinked her tears free yet again. "It's alright, Adam. It's just that . . . I've felt Hoss here, all through the house, even in your father's room. But just now, standing so close to his room, I . . . Oh, Adam, it feels like if I open that door, he'll be standing on the other side!" Amanda stared pleadingly at Adam. "I miss him so much!"

"You don't have to do this alone, Amanda," Adam said, feeling her stiffen slightly at his words. "You can count on us to be there for you. And if you choose to do so, you can raise the newest little Cartwright right here on the Ponderosa."

Amanda lowered her eyes as Adam's words chipped away at her resolve. "I can't promise I'll stay, Adam," Amanda whispered, the sounds struggling to escape her tightened throat. She raised her head, grateful for the minute smile she mustered. "But I can promise that you're all welcome to be a part of this baby's life. Before I came here, before I'd actually met any of you, I'd hoped I would want to include you all, and now . . . now that I've met you, well, I can't even begin to imagine our child without you in her life. This baby _will_ know her pa's family!"

"Thank you, Amanda," Adam whispered, his heart breached by her promise. "Now, if you're sure you're alright, let's see about getting you settled in your room."

"I'm alright, Adam," Amanda said. "Really, I'm fine."

Warily, Adam slipped his hand from Amanda's waist, hesitating to be sure of her balance. "Are you sure?"

Amanda smiled. "Yes, Adam."

"Good," Adam said, stepping inside the darkened room. "Wait here while I light the lamp."

As the glow rose from soft shadows to warm radiance, Amanda stepped inside. "Oh, Adam," she said, "this room is lovely!"

"Where would you like this?" Adam asked, raising her suitcase.

"How about here on this chair?" Amanda suggested, and as Adam plunked the bag atop the cushion, Amanda carefully slid the thin, scalloped-edged curtains apart and smiled as the stark white moonlight shone on her face. "Are those rose bushes down there? The ones that Joe's mother planted?"

"Yes, they are," Adam said, smiling as he recalled the sweet smell that filled this room and his, as well, during the hot, muggy days of summer. "I gather Hoss told you all about them?"

"Mm hmm," Amanda replied. "He said that the only thing on the Ponderosa that smelled sweeter than his mamma's roses was his mamma herself!"

Adam nodded as he crossed the room. "Yeah," he said, "I remember him saying that to Joe when he'd ask about his mother. Hoss always made sure that Joe knew all about her."

"If you ask me, it did Hoss a lot of good to talk about her, too," Amanda said. "His eyes always sparkled when he told me about her." Amanda looked up at the shimmering moon. "They sparkled like those stars dancing in the night sky . . . I miss those eyes, Adam. Hoss could hide a lot of things, but when I looked into his bottomless, blue eyes, I could see right through to his soul."

"Yeah," Adam said. "I remember."

Amanda's nose tingled and her heart sent a warning of a growing ache deep inside. "Well, it's getting late. I'd best check in on your father. Maybe I should sleep in his chair, just in case he should need me during the night."

"I know you'd be more comfortable in your bed, Amanda," Adam said, "and you need to be sure to get restful sleep. Doctor's orders, remember? I'll sleep in Pa's room tonight, and Joe and Candy can each take the next two nights. I promise we'll wake you if Pa needs anything."

The baby fluttered and Amanda smiled. "It seems that your little niece agrees with your plan. I'll check in on Mr. Cartwright, and then baby and I will turn in for the night."

Adam offered his arm. "Ma'am, may I escort you to the next room?"

"You may, indeed, kind sir," Amanda replied, hooking her arm into his.

The two got as far as the door when Amanda pulled Adam to a stop. "Adam, I . . . I just wanted to say thank you."

"You're welcome," Adam said with a genuine smile. "Now let's go see how badly Pa's beating Joe at checkers!"


	44. Chapter 44 - The Storm Before The Calm

**CHAPTER FORTY FOUR**

**_THE STORM BEFORE THE CALM_**

The town of Pioche was littered with non-repentant criminals, unscrupulous fortune seekers, merchants willing to sell their souls for a deal, and scads of scantily dressed females hoping to latch onto the first saddle tramp with a large bankroll. The road leading out of Pioche was dotted with the bodies of filthy drunkards and bruised and battered brawlers who'd managed to wander far as the edge of town before collapsing into unconscious heaps along the trail. With dusk upon them, Jackson and Hiller passed on their way to the rendezvous point, ignoring the stares and snickers of the passersby who'd managed to remain upright. The pair gave no thought whatsoever to the poor souls lying face down in the muck.

"What are ya gonna do now that yer wife's found herself a rich family ta do her bidding?" Hiller asked, as he leaned, though not far enough to avoid his mount's left side, and spit an ample amount of tobacco swill toward the ground. "How ya gonna handle that and our friend?"

"Don'tchoo worry about my plans, Hiller," Jackson said. "Just make sure you and the others do what you're told."

"Those four are too stupid ta think fer themselves," Hiller said. "They'll do what they're told ta do."

"And you?" Jackson threatened.

"Me? I'm gonna need a few more answers," Hiller replied. "I want the money you promised me. Every bit of it. But I ain't one ta walk inta something without knowin' I got a chance to walk back out in one piece!"

"If you want the money," Jackson said, "you'll do what you're told and nothing more!"

"Yeah, well it ain't gonna work that way!" Hiller yelled, roughly reining his horse to a halt. "Look, Jackson, you escapin' from prison ain't no secret! You gotta know that lawyer Binghamton's got everybody at The Lucky A packin' lead and standin' guard and you know he's already warned yer wife and, most likely, the Cartwrights too! And just how long do ya think we're gonna be able ta keep our friend drugged 'n' outta sight? I still don't know why ya didn't just kill him when ya found out he was takin' from ole Amanda what you ain't been man enough ta sample yerself!"

Jackson leaped from his horse to Hiller's, toppling them both to the ground with a dull thud. Jackson wrapped his legs tightly around Hiller's waist and together, they rolled down the steep embankment along the side of the trail, sharp rocks and jagged tree stumps poking and scraping them as they tumbled. When the plunge ended, Jackson managed to liberate one arm just long enough to present Hiller with a sharp blow to his jaw, sending his head spiraling backward and his vision into a twisted nightmare of floating lights and drifting spots. Hiller's grumbling moan was followed by a grin, and he gathered strength and tasted blood. He swiped his fist over his mouth and it was met with thick, warm liquid as it trailed down his chin and dripped onto his shirt.

"You son of a . . ." Hiller shouted, drawing back to surrender a punch of his own. His fist landed squarely against the bridge of Jackson's nose, sending Jackson crashing flat onto his back. Hiller pounced, heaving his body onto Jackson's prone form. Arms flailing, Jackson wriggled beneath Hiller, yanking his attacker's hair and grasping wildly at his clothing. Hiller pummeled Jackson, bloodying his nose and blackening both of his eyes.

Jackson wrapped his hands around Hiller's neck and pressed his thumbs against Hiller's throat. Gasping for tiny, pathetic breaths of dust-churned air, Hiller loosened his grip on Jackson's shoulders and Jackson swung into motion. Bending his leg, he pulled it upward with every ounce of strength he could muster. Hiller shrieked as Jackson's knee smashed into his crotch, and he rolled off of Jackson as tiny specks of light danced in his vision.

Jackson crawled to his knees, spitting blood and dirt as he wiped his filthy hands across his cuts and scrapes. He smiled, painfully, at the sight of Hiller doubled over, rocking back and forth on the ground. "The woman hasn't been born that I can't have to do with as I please!" Jackson yelled. "And don't you ever forget it!"

Hiller moaned and spewed, blood trickling from the corner of his plumped, bruising lip. His arms ached and his back felt whipped and mangled and he considered pouncing on Jackson as he sat reveling in his latest, temporary victory. Hiller shifted his weight, rolling to his side in an attempt to stand. The searing pain in his groin grabbed at his breath and yanked it from his chest, and thoughts of revenge and satisfaction jumbled in his shaken mind and settled quickly into a profitable plan. _Another day, you son of a bitch! And that day can't come none too soon!_

"Jackson," Hiller shouted, his mind racing with a jumble of devious plans, "you never answered my question. Just what are you planning to do with Hoss Cartwright?"

For the fifth time in as many minutes, Adam's head skated free of his fist, bobbing and drifting before coming to rest against the back of his wrist. The crocheted coverlet he'd pulled over himself trickled down his arms and chest, coming to rest atop the chair's arm, and the slow chill that crept over him brought about a softened sigh. Weary of mind more so than body, and determined to get some amount of sleep, he refused to raise his eyelids. Listening intently, the reassuring sounds he heard were met with a vision of his father's chest rising and falling in rhythm with his own. The comforting cadence was broken when Ben shifted his legs and although the movement was minimal and natural, Adam's eyes sprung open and he raised himself upright, his drowsy eyes suddenly intent on Ben's lamp-lit face. He leaned further toward his father's bed and gently placed his palm against the sleeping man's forehead. Satisfied by the absence of fever, he tugged tenderly on Ben's blanket, raising it to cover his father's shoulders.

Adam stood, straightened, and arched his back, wriggling to work out the kinks that had already begun to take form. As he walked about the room, he curved his neck, massaging first one side and then the other. Convinced by his the ache already present in his muscles, Adam was sure that Amanda, in her condition, should not be expected to sit with his father on this or any other night of his recovery. He slipped back into the chair facing Ben's bed and boosted his feet onto the nearby ottoman. Settling back into the mirror of his initial position, he closed his eyes, and yawned heavily before listening for his father's breathing and the welcoming image of his chest keeping time with his beating heart.

Lying in the darkness, Hoss Cartwright strained to hear the always muted voices in the outer room of the shack. His mind, a jumble of memories and drug-fed nightmares, fought to make some sense of the past weeks. He remembered waiting for Candy's return as he lay in the shade of a tall pine, propped against a large rock. Once again, he felt the phantom pain of the poison-tipped arrow that had pierced his chest. Struggling with the darkness he'd awoken to time after time, he wondered about the passage of time in his fevered, heavily drugged condition. His best estimate was that he'd been held against his will for close to one month and, knowing that the month of July was then fast approaching, his thoughts wandered from his father and brothers on the Ponderosa to the cattle drive that would have left him as trail boss, and the trail that would have ended close to San Francisco, and his latest reunion with the woman he loved more than his own life; his Mandy.


	45. Chapter 45 - Night Falls For The Weary

**CHAPTER FORTY FIVE**

**_NIGHT FALLS FOR THE WEARY_**

"I figured the two of you'd be on your fifth or sixth game of checkers by now," Adam whispered as he and Amanda entered Ben's room. "Pa beat ya so badly that ya decided to call it quits?"

"Very funny, Older Brother!" was Joe's quiet, sarcastic reply. "If you must know, Pa won two games and so did I! But after that he was lookin' worn out, so I made some lame excuse about my eyes bein' tired and before I could put the game up, he was sound asleep."

Adam looked worried, but before he could speak his mind, Amanda was at his father's bedside.

"He's a little warm," she said, holding her hand gently against Ben's cheek.

"What?" Joe sparked, pushing himself effortlessly from the chair and rushing to his father's side. "He was fine the last time I checked."

Although Joe's tone was fretful, Amanda couldn't help but hear the underlying, defensive hue. "I'm sure he was, Joe," she said, "but see for yourself. He's warm now. Not fevered, just warm."

Adam restrained himself from verifying Ben's condition, not wanting to add to Joe's doubt of Amanda's abilities. "He's sleeping peacefully, so why don't we keep a close watch through the night and if there's any change, we'll go for Paul. I'll sit with him, Joe," Adam added, his eyes moving to meet Amanda's as she set out to object. "You two get some shut-eye. I'm sure Pa will be fine in the morning."

After seeing to a fresh basin of water and ample blankets and pillows for Adam's vigil, Amanda and Joe stepped into the upstairs hallway on their way to their respective bedrooms. Amanda's eyes drifted to the room at the end of the hall, and she quickly averted them when she felt Joe's gaze beginning to follow hers. "I hope you sleep well, Joe," Amanda said, reaching blindly for the door to her room. "And I'm sure your father will be feeling fine in the morning."

Before Joe could reply, Amanda pressed against the latch and a sharp squeal escaped her lips. "Ouch!" she cried softly as she yanked her hand away from the door.

"What's wrong?" Joe asked, raising the lamp from the hallway table.

"Oh, it's nothing," Amanda said as she examined her palm. "I pinched my skin on the latch is all."

"Here," Joe said, handing her the lamp. He lifted her hand in his, uneasy at the brief, unexpected closeness. "Let me take a look."

"Really, it's nothing," she said, sensing Joe's discomfort.

"It's not nothing," Joe said, reaching into his shirt pocket for the handkerchief tucked tightly inside. "It's bleeding. Just a little." Joe dabbed at the cut before wrapping the cloth around her hand and tucking in the loose end. "Let's go down to the kitchen and wash that off. Hop Sing has a store of bandages in the pantry."

"I can do it, Joe," Amanda assured, "if you'd rather go on to bed. Really, I can . . ."

"It won't take but a few minutes, Amanda," Joe said, his condescending tone belying the concern in his eyes. "C'mon."

After washing and bandaging the slice on her palm, Joe and Amanda started for the stairs, startling and nearly bumping into one another when Candy came in from the front porch.

"Sorry," Candy said as he watched them recover, "didn't expect to find anyone traipsing around the living room at this hour."

"Something wrong?" Joe asked worriedly as he stepped toward the front door.

"Uh, no," Candy muttered. "I was . . . uh, just coming back from town's all." Seeing Joe's troubled face, Candy smiled and continued. "Everything's quiet in Virginia City, for a change! Not even a coyote ta sing ta me on the ride home. Not a sound till I ran inta Pete 'n' Henry out by the barn."

Joe nodded. _Nothing new in Virginia City. And it's Pete and Henry's turn to stand watch tonight. _

"So," Candy said as he put up his hat and fiddled with his gun belt, "the two of you, down here, alone. Should I be looking for some broken dishes or maybe a blood trail?"

Although Amanda laughed at Candy's sarcasm, Joe was not amused. "Very funny!" Joe cried. "If you must know, Amanda cut her hand, we bandaged it up, and now we're heading upstairs for the night."

"You alright?" Candy asked, pushing past Joe.

"I'm fine, Candy," Amanda promised, holding her hand in plain sight, "thanks to Joe."

"Yeah," Joe added, pushing past Candy and heading up the steps. "She's fine. Adam's sleeping in Pa's room. And I'm goin' to bed."

After Joe cleared the upstairs landing, Amanda smiled up at Candy. "He really did take good care of me. All I did was pinch some skin in the latch to the bedroom door, and he insisted on staying with me until it was taken care of."

Candy raised his eyebrows. "Small steps?" he asked.

"Tiny steps," Amanda replied as she climbed the stairs. "Good night, Candy."

"Night."

As she reached the upstairs hallway, she noted that it was darker now, an indication that both Adam and Joe had lowered the lamps in their rooms. Amanda held her own lamp high, walking quietly toward her room, when something caught her eye. Just outside her room, a folded piece of paper lay haphazardly on the brown and tan-flowered carpet. "That wasn't there before," she thought, bending down to retrieve the note. "Must have fallen out of Joe's pocket when he pulled his handkerchief free." Amanda took three steps in the direction of Joe's room, hoping to return the note before crawling into the welcome comfort of her bed. The blackness beneath Joe's door brought her to a halt. _He's already in bed. I can give it to him in the morning._ Rubbing the back of her neck, she entered her room, placed the lamp and the note on the night stand and, forgoing her night clothes, crawled onto the mattress and pulled the blankets around her weary body.

Across the hall in his darkened room, Joe stood at his window, pushed the curtain aside, and nodded at the sight of Pete standing guard near the tall pine at the edge of the hitching post. Knowing that Henry would be watching the rear of the house gave Joe a measure of confidence that he could spend the rest of the night fast asleep in the coziness of his bed. He unfastened the buttons on his shirt as he navigated his room, the gray-hued, moonlight shadows lighting the way toward his bed. After sliding his arms free of the confinement of his sleeves, Joe tossed the shirt onto his chair, laced his fingers, and pressed his hands over his head. He stretched his taut, fatigued muscles, and let out a sigh as the emotion and stress of the day settled into his core and when he closed his eyes to yawn, he bumped roughly into the chair next to his bed. "Dadgummit!" he whispered as he grabbed for his shin. Still misjudging his position in the room, he collided yet again with the chair, and flopped into the seat with an embarrassed, defeated chuckle. _Why did I put the light out before I got to the bed? _As he raised himself up, Joe's hand caught hold of his shirt. _Dadburnit! Forgot to hide that telegram Adam gave me! _Joe fumbled with the fabric, finding a sleeve and the collar before balling the shirt and lobbing it across the room. _I'll hide it in the morning. There's no way Amanda's going to come in here and find it tonight! _Joe reached for his bed, flung himself beneath the blankets and, raising his head, punched his pillow into shape before settling in for the night.


	46. Chapter 46 - The Light At The End?

**CHAPTER FORTY SIX**

**_THE LIGHT AT THE END?_**

"Someone's comin'!" Tom shouted from his chair by the window, his gun in his hand. "Put out that there lamp!"

Hall scurried toward the table, dousing the lamp with one hand while pulling his gun with the other. "Ya think it's Jackson 'n' Hiller?"

Tom peered through the curtain, struggling to focus on the shadowed riders approaching the cabin. "Cain't tell jist yet," Tom whispered. "They's too far off. But iff'n it is, you'd best git used to doin' yer referrin' as Mister Findley. Ain't likely ta sit well with him iff'n you use his first name."

"Yeah, well, we'll see 'bout that!" Hall replied. "Jackson didn't have no trouble 'cpecting the two of us ta foller that big feller from Virginia City ta San Francisco 'n' back fer all them months while he was loungin' in prison! 'N' Jackson didn't have no problem with leavin' it up ta us ta decide when ta grab the big feller!"

Still peeking at the distant, moonlit silhouettes, Tom snorted a worried laugh. "Yeah! Who knew he was gonna git his self snake bit 'n' conked on the head? And that perty feller jist up 'n' left the big 'un there like a present fer us!"

"That's right!" Hall agreed, skulking lowly across the room. When he reached the window, Hall lifted the corner of the curtain and squinted his eyes against the darkness outside. "'N' don't you forget that Jackson left us holed up here with that big 'un, fetchin' his meals 'n' seein' ta his need fer private moments 'n' such. And it's been us that's had ta keep the big feller chained 'n' drugged-up 'n' such. Why, iff'n it wasn't fer you 'n' me, Jackson's perty little wife would still be livin' a life o' sin with the big feller!"

"That's a fact, Hall!" Tom agreed, weaving his head to and fro as he tried to identify the figures. "That is a fact!"

"Yes sir," Hall nodded. "And I figure ole Jackson owes the two of us a little bonus fer hauling that big man up here ta this ole place. Why, if Jackson was here right now . . ."

"He's here!" Tom cried, finally able to make out the faces in the moonlight. "Now, what was you sayin', Hall?"

Hall grimaced and stared momentarily at Tom's grinning face. "I weren't sayin' nothin' that I cain't say ta his . . . what I mean is, iff'n he was in this room at this very minute, I'd . . ."

The door to the cabin burst open and, guns in hand, Jackson and Hiller entered the front room. Movement near the window sent Jackson into a spin, his pistol aimed directly at Hall's chest.

"Hold it, Mr. Findley," Hall screeched. "It's jist me 'n' Tom!"

"Why, you idiots!" Jackson bellowed as he shoved his pistol roughly into his holster, charged at Tom and landed a fierce punch directly across his jaw.

"What the hell was that for?" Hall yelled, aware that most likely, he'd be next.

"Hiller 'n' I just waltzed up that trail and into this cabin, that's what the hell that was for!" Jackson spat, his rage forming little droplets of sweat beneath his brow. "We coulda been the sheriff or some bounty hunters or the damned Cartwrights for that matter! And the two of you just crouched there by the window!"

"Now hold on there, Ja . . . Mr. Findley," Hall shouted, offering a hand to Tom as his partner rubbed his jaw and clambered to his feet. "Me 'n' Tom was watching you 'n' Hiller comin' up the knoll for quite a spell. Now, ya done told us ta be invisible while we was waitin' on the two o' you, 'n' dadgummit, that's what we done!"

"That's right, Mr. Findley," Tom added, his chin stiffened by pain. "Neither one of us's been ta town since the day we got here 'n' made that run fer supplies. Ain't nobody got no notion that somebody's up here, we done seen ta that!"

While Jackson reprimanded his men, Hiller, listening to the pathetic explanations from Tom and Hall, inched his way around the cabin, searching in vain for Hoss Cartwright. Certain that Hoss's captors would have had the sense to vanish if Hoss had managed to escape, Hiller crept up behind Jackson to deliver the question burning in his mind.

"Uh, Jackson . . ." Hiller said, "why don't you ask them where . . ."

"Where is he?" Jackson growled, suddenly aware of the missing piece to the long journey he'd planned from his prison cell.

Still working his jaw from side to side, Tom nodded at Hall. "He's in the old mine shaft. We moved him there a few days ago. Wanna go see?"

Lanterns in hand, Jackson, Hiller, Hall, and Tom trudged across the rocky, area between the cabin and the entrance to what had once been a profitable silver mine. The access, veiled in countless numbers of lifeless tumbleweeds and decaying vines, was further concealed by the absence of moonlight as dense clouds formed a barrier between the glow in the sky and the men on the ground. Though the distance was short, as the terrain rose, grunts and groans of human complaint added to nature's endless rhythms, and when the opening to the tunnel loomed in the lamplight, Jackson's pace increased tenfold.

"Jackson!" Hiller called softly, his tone nervous and worrisome. "Somebody ought to stay out here 'n' keep watch. You three go on in. I'll stand guard."

Jackson spun on his heels and grabbed Hiller by his jacket's collar. "I thought you said there was no sign of us being followed!"

Hiller straightened his back, stiffening his shoulders. With his mouth just inches away from Jackson's, Hiller choked out his response. "No one followed us, jist like I said! No sense in taking any chances now that you're this close ta what you've been waitin' for since they marched you into yer cell and locked the bars behind 'em. I'm stayin' out here so you can do whatever it is that you're gonna do without the worry of being ambushed by the law or one of them good citizens of Pioche down below!"

Jackson squeezed Hiller's collar deeper into his fists, his face snarled in anger. As he released Hiller, Jackson shoved against his chest, sending Hiller stumbling backward before he was able to gain his footing. "You stay out here and keep your eyes and ears open! And remember this, all of you! I'm in charge here, and anybody who gets an idea to the contrary had best prepare to be left behind."

As Hiller straightened his jacket, Jackson, Hall, and Tom raised their lamps and disappeared into the opening of the mine. Gun in hand and sweat beading across his forehead, Hiller rested himself heavily against a tall protrusion in the rock that formed the entrance to the shaft. His breath came in waves of emotion, slowly for a time, and then rapidly as his mind calculated his options. "You talked yourself outta that one, Hiller!" he thought, rummaging in his jacket pocket for his neck cloth. Wiping his brow, Hiller glanced at the mine entrance, the darkness blurring his eyes. Listening intently, he allowed a brief thought to what might be transpiring in the carved passageway. "I couldn't go in there. Not just yet," he thought. "If I know him as well as I think I do, he'll be workin' on a plan of his own. And it wouldn't be good fer either of us ta show our hands to Jackson. In fact, it'd be deadly, fer sure. I just hope that when he has to, Hoss has the presence of mind ta act like he don't remember Donny Hiller."


	47. Chapter 47 - A Meeting Of The Mine

**CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN**

**_A MEETING OF THE MINE_**

The first hundred feet of the derelict mine shaft reeked of damp, mossy drainage from the crevices in the walls and overhead carvings that had been left unattended for the past seven years. The bumps and valleys in the floor made walking difficult as booted feet slipped and slid across the wet, shiny rock. Swaying lanterns thrust forward and, held high in the clammy, musty air, cast dancing figures against the rutted walls, their flaming wicks threatening to extinguish as the passageways narrowed.

"How much further?" Jackson growled, the tapering tunnel daunting his nerve.

"Just around the next curve," Tom replied.

"Jist remember," Hall said, his voice filled with warning, "he's a big 'un, Mr. Findley. A real giant of a man."

His grimacing face ignited by his lantern, Jackson spun on his heels, the side of his lamp smacking against the side of Hall's head. "You got something to say ta me, Hall?"

"No, sir, Mr. Findley," Hall stammered, rubbing his bruised head with his fingertips.

Jackson stepped closer to Hall, his face just inches away. "Like maybe our guest is too big for me to handle?" Jackson spat, his liquored breath warm against Hall's face. "Like maybe I'm not man enough to put that wife-stealing son of a bitch in his place?"

Hall stood firm as Jackson leaned even closer. Swallowing hard, Hall called to muster all of his resolve as he raised his shoulders and stared into Jackson's glaring, green eyes. "What I'm sayin', Mister Findley, is that our 'guest' as you call 'em ain't gonna jist lay there 'n' let you do whatever you're gonna do. I don't know how, but he's still got fight in 'em, ain't that right, Tom?"

Tom shuddered as he recalled his encounter with Hoss earlier that day. "He ain't 'xaggeratin' none, Mr. Findley. Why, jist this mornin' that feller pert near got a . . ."

"Pert near got a good swing at Tom here," Hall interrupted, his threatening eyes glaring at Tom. _Stupid fool was gonna tell the boss ole Hoss pert near got clean away – again!_

Tom shriveled when he realized what he'd almost done. He lowered his lantern, concealing his face in the darkness and grayed shadows of the shaft. "That's right, Mr. Findley. Jist r'member ta be careful 'round that big feller."

Jackson angrily ripped his gaze from Hall and glared briefly at Tom. Lowering his lantern, Jackson widened his stance and snarled his words. "When Flint and Jarvis join us later this evening, it'll be them guarding our guest from now on. I'm surprised that the two of you haven't managed to get yourselves arrested and tossed in jail in the only town west of the Truckee that doesn't even have a sheriff!

The evening air carried with it an unexpected chill. Hiller rubbed his arms as the breeze brushed against his thin, cotton shirt. He'd left his jacket back in the cabin, and after several minutes of shivering, his options seemed obvious: leave the entrance unguarded and retrieve his jacket or step into the shaft to avoid the escalating winds. Working his lower jaw from left to right, the pattern of Jackson's knuckles forming heavy black and purple bruises along its ridge, Hiller made his choice and walked several feet into the shaft. The opus of night sounds came to an abrupt ending, replaced now by the echoing sound of distant, angry voices.

"Wake up!" Jackson yelled, swinging his left leg back and thrusting it yet again into Hoss's side. When the second blow did nothing to rouse the limp form lying on the ground, Jackson reached for the half-filled water bucket he'd seen upon entering the large, open space in the shaft. He grinned as he raised the bucket and splashed the icy water down over Hoss's head and chest. "I said WAKE UP!"

Hoss shivered, his filthy, tattered shirt revealing a spasm of muscles through the gaping hole along his shoulder. Only his feet moved, their bared, cracked heels and soles caked with dried blood wriggled as his toes searched for a hold against the loose dirt and sawdust that covered the ground. After a great effort that yielded nothing in return, Hoss laid motionless once again.

"We've been druggin' him from time ta time, jist like you said," Tom said. "He ain't said but two er three words in the last few days 'n' they wasn't words ya could understand, ain't that right, Hall?"

Hall nodded, hoping that Tom had the sense to keep quiet about the close calls they'd had over the past four months.

"We been feedin' him too, jist like ya said," Tom continued. "Jist enough ta keep 'im alive's all. He was a might bigger when we grabbed 'im back at Sidewinder Bluff! A might orn'rier too! Why, them first couple 'o weeks, we was . . ."

"Shut up, Tom!" Hall thought. "Findley'll shoot us on the spot iff'n he finds out how many times the big feller tried ta git away!"

"I don't care about your first couple of months let alone weeks!" Jackson shouted. "I want him awake and listening to what I'm gonna do to him, his family, and my pretty little Amanda."

"We kin wake 'im," Hall said, stretching his fingers and squeezing them into fists. "Ain't that right, Tom?"

"That's right!" Tom agreed. "We'll git 'im up fer ya, Mr. Findley."

Lying motionless on the cold, dank ground, Hoss wrangled with the urge to spring to his feet and pummel Jackson to his knees before choking life's final breath from his chest. Bile rose in Hoss's throat as the realization of Jackson's role in his captivity emerged, and his pulse quickened at the thought of Amanda, unprotected against Jackson Findley since his obvious escape from prison.

"Maybe our guest here doesn't have enough life left in him to stand!" Jackson shouted. "Being shackled for a hundred and twenty five days could do that to a man!" Jackson laughed and nodded as Tom and Hall prepared to lift Hoss Cartwright to face his captor.

"A hundred and twenty five days?" Hoss cried in silence. "A hundred and . . . I thought it had only been a few weeks. How could I . . . Oh, my God! They must think I'm dead! Pa, Joe, Candy, Hop Sing . . . They must've wired Adam by now! And Amanda! Does she think I'm dead? Or does she think I've left her 'n' I ain't comin' back?"

Hoss, his eyes clamped shut and his weakened body adding to his ruse, felt Hall and Tom slipping their hands beneath his arms. They'd forced Hoss to his feet many times before and as always, Hoss feigned complete helplessness, allowing his body to appear lifeless and feeble. They hauled him upward, and he shuddered as the chilled air hit the soggy fabric of his shirt and trousers. His blistered feet stung as he pressed his weight against the ground, struggling to gain his bearings, and for the first time since that first day when he'd awakened with shackles on his wrists and ankles, Hoss knew he didn't have the strength to fight off one man let alone the three armed men standing with him in the abandoned mine shaft.


	48. Chapter 48 - The Power of Confrontation

**CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT**

**_THE POWER OF CONFRONTATION_**

"So," Jackson snarled, "you're the man that saw his way clear to stealing my wife." He stood back, eyeing Hoss's bulky, slumping form. "You don't look like much at the moment. Matter of fact, from what I can see, I'd say you weren't much even before Tom and Hall got their hands on you!"

Hoss's head drooped heavily, his chin against his chest. As his left knee yielded against his weight, his head bobbed slightly and a muffled groan rumbled in his throat. Still struggling to support their captive, Tom and Hall jerked as Hoss swayed sharply to the right and after nearly losing their balance, their feet fumbled to gain a stable bearing.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!" Jackson shouted, callously grabbing a handful of Hoss's hair and yanking his head upright.

Hoss refused to grimace as Jackson tugged on his hair. His mouth hung open, saliva seeped gently from the corners of his lips, and droplets of blood trickled from the break in the thick, crusted scab on his chin.

"That's much better, Cartwright!" Jackson spat. "Look at him, boys! Drooling like a baby!" Jackson laughed, drew back and punched Hoss squarely in the jaw.

This time Tom and Hall lost their grips, tumbling, along with Hoss, to the mucky, rocky floor of the mine. Pinned beneath Hoss, Tom choked and sputtered as he wrestled free of his burden. Hall scrambled to his feet, drawing his gun as he steadied himself along the wall of the shaft.

"Put that away," Jackson shouted. "He's not in any shape to put up that much of a fight!" With a snicker, Jackson added, "Shackle him against the wall!" Grinning, he stood by, calculating his next, vengeful moves while Tom and Hall, with taxing effort, lifted Hoss's limp torso from the ground. Together, Jackson's men hoisted Hoss against the wall, his rubbery legs folding repeatedly as his blistered feet sent stabbing pains from his soles into his thighs. As Hall leaned his weight into Hoss's chest, Tom hooked his arm shackles to the support beams along the shaft wall. Hanging forward, Hoss's wrists strained against the irons, and when Tom knelt, dragging Hoss's feet apart to hook the fetters into the wall, Hoss groaned in agony.

"He's locked up good and tight?" Jackson asked, his abhorrent glare piercing the lamplight as he flexed his left hand and rubbed his right, clenched fist.

"Yes sir, Mr. Findley," Tom replied, stepping clear of his boss.

"Good," Jackson said. Exuding an air of calm that belied the throbbing veins in his neck, Jackson slowly removed his jacket, folded it neatly in half, and handed it to Tom. "Let's see just what a Cartwright wife-stealer is made of."

Hiller listened intently, the continuous nocturnal sonata fading into the background as the voices inside the mine shaft sounded a dissonant chorus. The biting sound of knuckles colliding forcefully against skin and bone resounded through the tunnel, the impact sending a shudder through Hiller's core.

"I'm told you met my wife in a hotel lobby!" Jackson yelled. "My Amanda's always been too friendly for her own good; talking to strangers and looking for the good in everyone she meets. And look where it got her! Married to a murderer and committing adultery with the likes of you!"

Hiller cringed when Jackson punctuated his declaration with what sounded like a ruthless wallop to Hoss's ribs. Silence followed, but the stillness was short-lived as someone in the tunnel grunted, the noise accompanying yet another thud, this one followed quickly by three more thumps. Hiller looked away from the entrance, hoping to find escape in the endless black void of night. Inside the shaft, the incessant pummeling and pathetic groans resonated through the tunnel, its thick walls funneling the anguished cries directly to Hiller's ears.

"Not so much of a prize now, are you, Cartwright?" Jackson laughed. "Would Amanda give you as much as a second look with that scruff of a bloodied beard and those clothes reeking of vomit and urine? . . . LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Hiller heard the familiar rage in Jackson's tone, and coupled with the secrecy of the rest of Jackson's plan for revenge, Hiller feared for Hoss's life. Each new blow and groan brought images of Hoss's battered body. _I didn't know about this . . . The torture, the beatings. He's been here for more than four months! Hall 'n' Tom had orders ta keep him chained 'n' drugged, 'n' God only knows if they've been feedin' him! I may be a no-good drifter, but Hoss was one of the few people that ever even thought about givin' me a chance. 'N' when his pa told me ta git off his ranch, Hoss tried ta git his pa ta give me a second . . . no, a third chance. I didn't deserve it, 'n' his pa sure did know it! And now . . . I just wanted the money. I didn't know . . . _Another crushing sound sliced through the chilly, damp air: this one carried with it a roar of evil laughter.

"You didn't know, did you?" Jackson yelled. "My pretty little wife has moved in with your precious pa and your faithful brothers! At least they were faithful, until my slut of a wife moved in! You think maybe she's picked out a new Cartwright?"

Hiller choked down the bile rising in his throat when another crack of bone-crushing force reached his ears.

"Maybe she's decided to seduce the oldest Cartwright son!" Jackson shouted. "What was his name again? ANSWER ME!"

Once again, Hiller winced at the crisp smack and anguished moan that came from within the mine shaft.

"I guess even a mighty Cartwright can't speak with his lips sliced and his tongue swelling!" Jackson spat. "Let's see . . . Adam, yes, Adam's his name. Maybe she's chosen him. Or that young brother of yours; the one that can't seem to keep his hands off of any pretty thing that wanders into Virginia City! Maybe Amanda likes her men on the pretty side, huh? After all, she did sniff after me!"

"Hoss must be hurtin' bad if he's lettin' Jackson git away with talk 'bout any woman like that!" Hiller thought, shivering against the increasing wind.

"I KNOW!" Jackson screamed, revelation in his voice. "Amanda once said she preferred mature men over the boys she'd known. I'll betcha that right this very minute Amanda and your sainted father are rutting after each other in that big ranch house of yours!"

The next sound that Hiller heard, a growl like a ferocious, wild animal, sent a chill down his spine that left him quivering against the entrance wall of the mine shaft. _Oh, Hoss!_


	49. Chapter 49 - The Madness Of Revenge

**CHAPTER FORTY NINE**

**_THE MADNESS OF REVENGE_**

"RAHHHH . . . YOU SHHHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH!" Hoss bellowed, a thick mixture of blood and saliva dripping from both corners of his mouth. With each agonized word, a searing pain sliced through his mid-section; a clear sign that one of Jackson's punches had cracked at least one of Hoss's ribs. Hanging limply from the tethered arm shackles, Hoss squinted, his eyes, blurry and stinging with each involuntary salty tear as he temporarily poured what little strength remained into glaring at Jackson. Met with Jackson's self-satisfied grin, Hoss momentarily clamped his eyes shut and channeled his resolve into the strenuous effort of standing soundly, raising his shoulders to their full height and towering over Jackson Findley. "It don't matter none if you never lay eyes on Amanda agin," Hoss threatened, his drawl thickened by his swollen lips and parched throat. "It don't matter none if you never hurt her agin. It don't matter, you son of a bitch, 'cause I'm gonna kill you fer the things you already done ta her!" Hoss hoisted his chest, his stance imposing down upon Jackson. "No matter what, I swear I'll kill you!"

Jackson's bogus grin hid his panic, and his clenched jaw and bulging neck-veins brought a painful snicker to Hoss's face.

"What's the matter, big man?" Hoss taunted, leaning forward on his blistered feet as far as his chains would allow. "You ain't afraid o' ole Hoss, are ya?"

Jackson's upper lip, covered in tiny beads of sweat, jerked as Hoss's damp, hot breath hit his skin. His chest heaved and his mind raced, certain that if Hoss were to break loose from his restraints, he would surely meet his Maker before the chains clanged against the ground.

Hall and Tom, cowering off to the side of the shaft, watched intently as Jackson considered his next move. "Kill him, I say!" Hall whispered. "Cartwright'll do him in iff'n you don't!"

"I ain't never seen a man beat half ta death standin' up ta them that beat 'em like Cartwright!" Tom replied, his whisper barely audible. "Hall, iff'n he breaks them chains, we ain't stayin' around ta see what happens!"

Jackson turned sharply, pacing his way further from Hoss's daunting form. "You're a real tough one when your words are falling on deaf ears! You've been drugged, starved, beaten, and manacled. I wonder how big your talk would be if you had any chance of following through with your empty threats!"

Hoss grinned, weaving slightly as a frightening light brightened his glazed eyes. "Why don't you let these chains loose 'n' we'll jist see how empty my threats are!"

Jackson laughed, tossing his head back in delight. "Get it, Tom," he ordered, pausing until the man reached the saddlebag across the room. "I'm afraid you'll be wearing those chains a little longer, Hoss. You see, I plan to pay a visit to the Ponderosa. In fact, as soon as Flint and Jarvis get here, we're all going on a little trip. Now, you see, Hoss, I'm not an unfair man," Jackson said, his voice suddenly calm and steady. "I think that a man who's marked for death should get one final chance to see his father and brothers, especially since they'll be dying right alongside him."

Tom rustled inside the saddlebags, the shadows in the shaft making his search a difficult one.

"Once you've said your goodbyes to your sainted father and brothers, why, then you'll be wantin' to do the same to Amanda," Jackson spat, spinning abruptly to deliver a forceful blow to Hoss's stomach, "isn't that right, Hoss?"

Choking and gasping for each agonizing breath, Hoss doubled-over as far as his restraints would allow, hung his head and vomited the bile that forced its way into his throat.

Jackson howled, pleased with his torture. "Amanda will step over the bodies of her savior Cartwrights and rush toward the waiting arms of her wife-stealing lover!" Jackson's right hand slid to his holster, the cool touch of the pistol's handle bringing him closer to the brink of insanity. "But just before Amanda's gentle, pale hands reach her lover . . . BANG! BANG! No more Amanda! No more Hoss!"

Tom jerked, falling backward against the shaft wall. Hall, still huddled in the far curve of the cavernous opening, flinched and nearly lost his balance. Hoss, still reeling from Jackson's blow, raised his head slowly toward the madman's face.

Outside, Hiller clenched his eyes and hugged his arms to his chest. _He's mad! I knew he was somethin' beyond evil, but he's stark-raving mad! I signed up fer the money, that's all. I ain't killed no one before, 'n' I ain't about ta aim fer the noose now! _His mind raced, his first three choices calling for immediate escape. _Hoss stuck his neck out for me once, against his pa of all people! I cain't run off 'n' leave 'im ta Jackson's mercy. I gotta figure a way. I jist gotta!_ Hiller rubbed his chin, working his way through a surplus of ideas doomed to fail. _What if I . . . _Jackson's cries from inside the shaft wrenched Hiller from his thoughts, and he stepped further into the shaft, hoping to hear more of Jackson's plan.

"Tom!" Jackson roared, glaring at Hoss's weakening form. "Where the hell is it?"

"Got it!" Tom announced, relief in his voice as he carried the small vial and strange, narrow tube to Jackson. "What is it?"

"It's our ticket to controlling our big friend for the journey to the Ponderosa!" Jackson explained.

Tom, Hall, and Hoss watched as Jackson lifted the tube and a small bottle of liquid.

"This is a hypodermic needle," Jackson said, "and this is a medicine that will keep our friend here as docile and timid as a newborn babe!"

"That's what he's plannin'!" Hiller thought. "I should'a known that was why he wanted them things! But he don't know how ta . . ."

"HILLER!" Jackson yelled. "GET IN HERE! Tom, take Hiller's place. Keep an eye out for Jarvis and Flint . . . Anyone else comes near . . . kill 'em!"

"You got it, Mr. Findley!" Tom replied.

"Hiller?" Hoss thought. "I know that name, jist cain't remember . . ."

Hiller passed Tom on his way into the shaft. The two nodded, their pale faces confirming what they each knew: their boss was ready to make his next move, and murder was more than either of them had counted on.

"Hurry up, Hiller!" Jackson shouted as Hoss struggled to straighten himself yet again. "We don't want to keep Hoss waiting. He looks like he could use a long, long nap!" Jackson laughed.

Hiller, standing purposely in the shadows and out of Hoss's line of sight, reached for the bottle and needle.

"You said you knew how to use this thing, so use it," Jackson demanded. "Give him enough to keep him out until tomorrow night. We should be at the ranch by then. And do it right, Hiller! No mess ups, you hear me?"

"Yeah, Mr. Findley, I hear you," Hiller said, hoping to hide his true intentions. "Just before you called, I thought I heard Jarvis 'n' Flint comin' down the road ta the cabin."

"Well, it's about time!" Jackson said. "They'll have the rest of the supplies we'll be needing."

"That's right. I can handle this, Mr. Findley," Hiller offered, remembering Jackson's embarrassing phobia when he'd explained the use of the needle. "If you'd like, that is," he continued, holding the needle into view. "Hall kin stay here in case I need any help."

Jackson nodded, reluctantly, and turned once again to face Hoss. "You enjoy your nap, wife stealer! Before your know it, you'll be back home, saying goodbye to everyone you care about!" Raising his fist, Jackson delivered one final blow to Hoss's jaw, knocking Hoss into unconsciousness before storming from the shaft.

Hiller hesitated, pausing until he was sure Jackson and Tom had left for the cabin. Moving along the wall, Hiller approached Hall and led him deeper into the shadows. "Hall," he whispered, secure in his ability to inspire doubt in his feeble-minded friend. "I don't know 'bout you, but I got a bad feelin' about all this!"

"Whatcha mean, Hiller?" Hall asked.

"Think about it!" Hiller continued. "You 'n' Tom kidnapped somebody. Jackson didn't. And not just anybody, mind you. You two kidnapped a Cartwright! 'N' you've been beatin' him 'n' starvin' him!"

"'N' we was druggin' him, too, Hiller!" Hall announced proudly. He quickly realized the implications, and his tone changed quickly. "Oh! I see whatcha mean . . ."

"That's right, Hall," Hiller agreed, "'n' now, Jackson's talkin' about murder! Not jist murder, but murder of four Cartwrights! 'N' a woman!"

Hall pondered Hiller's words and reached slowly for his neck, the feel of the rope tightening sending a shiver through his core. "I didn't know nothin' 'bout his plan ta murder no one! I swear!" Hall cried.

"Me neither!" Hiller agreed, his heart racing. "Now, I'm thinkin' I don't wanna be swingin' from no noose jist 'cause Jackson's woman took a likin' ta some other man while ole Jackson was in prison! 'N' believe you me, there won't be a crack in a wall where we kin hide iff'n we kill us one Cartwright, let alone four!"

"What are we gonna do, Hiller?" Hall asked, his voice trembling.

"Well, I got an idea," Hiller said, "but it'll only be fer you 'n' Tom 'n' me. Jarvis 'n' Flint's on their own ta decide iff'n they wanna swing 'r not!"

"Yeah," Hall agreed. "So, what's yer plan?"

Hiller and Hall whispered back and forth, their heads nodding and their apprehension building. Finally, Hall pushed himself from the wall and, after one last glance at Hoss's lifeless body, he dipped his head to Hiller and headed to the cabin.

After several drawn-out moments, Hiller approached Hoss's slumped form. "Hoss," he whispered, "can ya hear me? Hoss? Can ya open yer eyes?"

Hoss groaned, his motionless head drooping heavily.

"Hoss?" Hiller said, astonished that even with Hoss's current physical condition, he was still afraid to stand any closer to the giant of a man. "Hoss! You have to wake up!" Hiller shook his head. _I need his help for this plan to work! _He paced back and forth, rubbing his chin and praying that Hall would be able to keep up his end of the plan. He stopped suddenly, a tiny smile creeping across his lips. "Hoss!" he said, "Joe 'n' Adam need you! 'N' so does yer pa! They need ya, Hoss! You're the only one kin save 'em, Hoss! Them and Amanda!"

Hoss turned his head slightly, his neck crunching with the insignificant movement.

"That's it, Hoss," Hiller encouraged. "Yer brothers 'n' yer pa are in trouble, Hoss. 'N' Amanda is, too! We gotta save 'em, Hoss!"

"Amanda?" Hoss mumbled. "Pa?"

"That's right, Hoss," Hiller said. "They need ya."

Hoss twisted his neck, hoping to shed the burden that blurred his vision and pounded against his head. The voice, a dampened murmur, taunted him repeatedly, luring him to consciousness with the names of his loved ones.

"Joe and Adam . . ." the voice called.

"Adam?" Hoss thought. "Adam ain't at the ranch."

"Your pa needs you . . ." the voice whispered.

"Pa? What's wrong?" Hoss cried, his silent question ringing in his mind.

"Amanda . . ." the voice cried.

"Mandy?" Hoss whispered, the sound of his own, weakened voice disturbing his inner strength.

"That's right, Hoss," Hiller said, stepping back as Hoss slowly raised his head. "C'mon, Hoss, ya gotta . . ."

Hoss summoned strength from a hidden reserve as he focused his blood-caked eyes on the face that belonged to the haunting voice. Little by little, his vision cleared as he shifted his pain-racked body against the biting hold of the shackles. His ribs objected with a stabbing thrust and he drew in a sharp, agonizing breath as the man's face sparked a familiar memory.

"Hiller?" Hoss asked, his anger building as his surroundings came into focus.

"Good. You remember me," Hiller said, Hoss's escalating rage hastening his retreat.

"What is this, Hiller?" Hoss growled.

"I'm gonna git you outta this, Hoss," Hiller promised, "but ya gotta pretend like ya don't know me when the others are around!"

"Why should I trust you, Hiller?" Hoss snarled, yanking fiercely against his chains. "Yer workin' with Findley."

Hiller stepped back yet again. "I _was_ workin' with him," Hiller admitted, "but I didn't sign up fer murderin' no one, Hoss! 'Specially not someone that stuck his neck out fer me. 'N' definitely not a woman!"

"If you so much as lay a finger on Amanda . . ." Hoss shouted.

"I ain't never laid eyes nor a hand on her!" Hiller cried. And if you and me kin pull off my plan, ain't nobody gonna hurt the lady or yer pa and yer family."

Hoss glared at Hiller, searching the man's eyes for the lies he expected to see, and when he found none, his glare softened to a threatening stare. "You so much as cause a scratch on anybody I care about 'n' I'll drop you on the spot," he warned, his deep voice sending a visible shutter through Hiller. "That's a promise. Now explain this plan."


	50. Chapter 50 - Slow Healing and Injuries

**CHAPTER FIFTY**

**_SLOW HEALING AND INJURIES OF THE HEART_**

Even with his senses on the edge of awareness, the first muted moans did nothing to rouse Adam from his slumber, but when his father called out, his voice barely a whisper, Adam bounded to the edge of his chair, reaching immediately for his father's fingers as they raked across the linen sheets. A calming grasp led to a sudden gripping hold as Ben called out again, his raspy tone a low, groaning sound.

"H . . . oss."

Adam's heart crumbled. His father, clearly fevered and confused, wearily opened his eyes, their usual chestnut brown veneer clouded, their dimness mimicking his pallor. Quickly, Adam retrieved a cloth from the basin, immediately wishing that the water was cooler. As his trembling hands twisted the cloth, Adam soothed his father with his even, baritone voice. "Pa," he said, leaning over the basin on the bedside table, "it's Adam. Everything's alright." Adam brushed the cloth across his father's forehead, dabbing at his temples before soaking and wringing it once again. He wiped Ben's neck and shoulders and frowned when his father shivered against the chill.

Ben's fever had grown and when Adam lifted the bandage on his father's arm, he flinched at the crimson, swollen skin surrounding Doctor Martin's carefully placed stitches. Lamp in hand, Adam examined Ben's arm, relieved to find no sign of the telltale streak that meant certain danger of tetanus. _Let's hope it stays this way, Pa: a simple, treatable infection and nothing more._ Adam redressed the wounds, speaking softly in response to his father's ramblings while at the same time avoiding answering his pleas for Hoss.

"Pa," Adam said quietly, "you've hurt your arm. Do you remember? We were helping the widow Landry with rebuilding her place and you were cut when the wood stack fell. You're home now, Pa, in your own bed. Paul's been here, and you're going to be just fine."

Ben followed his son's voice, looking Adam straight in the eye, but the confusion on his face was apparent. "Hoss?" Ben repeated, his eyes pleading for an unknown answer.

"Pa, it's Adam," Adam said as he filled a glass with water. "I'm here with you and you're going to be alright."

"Adam?" Ben asked weakly.

"That's right, Pa," Adam replied, smiling down as he raised Ben's head and helped him to some water. "Easy. Not too fast. That's it. Now just lay back and rest, Pa."

Ben slumped back onto his pillows, cringed, and let out a sharp groan as his shoulder pulled against his wound.

Adam quickly gathered Ben's hand in his, squeezing gently until Ben's face relaxed and he opened his eyes. "Easy, Pa," Adam said, laying a comforting hand against his father's shoulder. "Try to get some sleep, alright?"

Grasping for a clear connection to his son, Ben forced his eyes to focus as images floated in his mind. "A woman?" Ben whispered.

"Pa," Adam replied, "you've got a high fever. There's no woman, just me. I'm here, Pa."

Ben shook his head, the movement leaving his head spinning and his stomach nauseated. "Amanda? Hoss's Amanda? Findley!"

Adam smiled, hoping to calm Ben's fears. "Yes, Pa," he assured. "Amanda's still here. She's safe and sound, asleep in the guest room. And there's no sign of . . ."

"Actually, I'm right here," Amanda said from the bedroom doorway. Adam startled, turning to see a glowing, robe-clad Amanda. "I heard voices, and I was worried that there might be a problem. I'm sorry if I surprised you, Adam."

"You did," Adam replied, anxious to discover what Amanda had heard. "I'm sorry that I woke you," he continued. "My father's running a bit of a fever . . ."

"But Adam is taking good care of me," Ben interrupted. "I've had a bit of water, and I think I can rest now."

Amanda smiled. "I'm happy to hear that, Mr. Cartwright, but we do need to keep an eye on that fever."

"Yes," Ben admitted, his voice still weakened, "I do feel a bit warm, but a little better than before. And you, my dear, how are you feeling?"

Amanda shook her head and wrinkled her brow. "There's no need to worry about me, Mr. Cartwright. The baby and I are fine. But there is one thing," she added, touched by the immediate reactions of both Adam and Ben.

"What is it?" Adam asked, reaching for her forearm.

"What do you need, dear?" Ben said, straining to sit up in his bed.

Amanda pushed away from Adam's support and hurried to Ben's side. "Mr. Cartwright," she pleaded, resting a gentle hand against his chest, "you mustn't exert yourself! You might aggravate your fever. All I wanted to ask was for Adam to walk me back to my room. I've grown accustomed to sleeping with an opened window, and the one in the guest room seems to be stuck."

Ben inhaled sharply and forced a smile on his face and in his eyes. "I'm sure Adam can raise the window."

Amanda smiled, but noted the awkward change in Ben's voice.

"Go along, Adam," Ben said. "I'm feeling quite tired."

Adam nodded, his thoughts, too, wandering to the memory of Hoss and the nightly ritual he'd displayed since the age of seven: sleeping with his window raised. _Pa must be thinking the same thing: I wonder if Amanda's habit was inherited from nights spent with Hoss._

"Goodnight, again, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said softly.

"Goodnight," Ben replied, his tone warm, but reserved.

Amanda and Adam crossed the hall and entered her room. Once inside, Adam stepped toward the window, stopping part way as a breeze wafted against the dancing curtain. He creased his brow and turned to face Amanda. "Your window is already open."

Amanda glared at Adam. "Yes, Adam," she said flatly, "my window is open. But some things around here seem to be closed up tight!"

"I beg your pardon."

"Just how is it that your father needs to know that I am 'safe and sound' and what is it that there is 'no sign of?'" Amanda asked suspiciously.

"Uh, Pa was just asking if I thought you felt safe here," Adam lied, "and if I'd seen any sign that you would be needing Doctor Martin to . . ."

". . . if I would be needing Doctor Martin to read me a certain telegram?"

Adam's jaw tensed. "Amanda . . ." he started, already speculating on how Joe managed to leak the news of Jackson Findley's escape from prison.

"I have not lied to you," Amanda declared, "so, please, Adam, don't lie to me."

Adam opened his arm, inviting Amanda to the chair in the room. She hesitated, and when Adam's eyes dropped briefly to her waist, she nodded and stiffly took a seat. "You've obviously read the telegram. We didn't mean to lie to you, Amanda. We were only thinking of you and the baby."

"I supposed that's why someone has been expected to stay here at the ranch at all times, to guard me?" she asked, her anger growing.

"That's right," Adam answered. "You have never once been alone in this house since the moment we saw that wire."

"And the two men outside?" she asked, having seen them when she'd opened the window an hour earlier.

"They'll watch through the night, so that we can sleep without worry," Adam explained.

"And your father knows?" she asked, her eyes fixed intently on Adam's.

"Yes," Adam replied. "And thank you for not upsetting him with this. He'll do whatever it takes to protect you, Amanda. And that goes for Joe and Candy and the rest of the hands, and me."

Amanda's nose tingled and her lips warmed and prickled. "Does Randall know that I'm alright?"

"Yes, he does," Adam replied. "He's on his way to Virginia City. He wants to see to your safety for himself."

Amanda looked away and smiled. _Randall, always ready to defend me no matter what!_

"Amanda," Adam said softly, dropping onto one knee beside her chair. "Maybe we should have told you about your . . . about Jackson. We wanted to spare you the worry and, well, the fear that this news might carry along with it. Please believe me when I say our decision to keep the wire from you had nothing to do with trust or doubt. We would defend any woman from a man like Jackson, but you, Amanda, the woman Hoss loved . . . we'll do anything to keep you and your child safe. Anything."

Amanda shivered, and she wanted more than anything to feel Hoss's strong, tender arms encircling her. She lowered her head, and when her eyes grew hazy with grief-filled tears, she closed them and imagined Hoss holding their child, surrounded by the family that now was hers as well as his. And in the distance, she saw Jackson, small and defeated, crawling further and further away.

"Amanda," Adam whispered, taking her hand in his, "are you alright?"

Amanda nodded, lifted her head, and smiled, her lips quivering and her throat closing tighter with each shallow breath. Her eyes welled as her hands began to shake. "I'm so . . ." a sob escaped her lips "af . . . afraid!" Weeping openly, Amanda fell forward into Adam's arms.

"Shh," he soothed, "It's going to be alright. No one can hurt you here."

Amanda suddenly cried out, "Oh, Adam, I've brought danger to you and your family. What if Jackson hurts one of you?"

"He won't," Joe said, standing in the open doorway.

Amanda and Adam jerked, stunned that Joe had heard all that had transpired.

"I promise you, Jackson Findley won't so much as lay a finger on any one of us. We'll see to it, Amanda. We'll see to it . . . for Hoss."


	51. Chapter 51 - The Gathering of Sides

**CHAPTER FIFTY ONE**

**_THE GATHERING OF SIDES_**

"Like I said, Mr. Binghamton," Roy continued as he walked Amanda's friend and lawyer, Randall, toward the jailhouse door, "Mrs. Findley's in the best of hands with the Cartwrights. It wouldn't matter none if she didn't know Hoss or if she wasn't . . ." Roy cleared his throat as his cheeks reddened. "Well, it wouldn't matter 'cause the Cartwrights would protect anyone from the likes of Jackson Findley."

"The truth is, Sheriff Coffee, deep down, I knew as much before I even made the decision to come to Virginia City," Randall explained, tilting his hat against the blaring early afternoon sun as he followed Roy out onto the jailhouse porch. "After spending time with Hoss Cartwright, I couldn't imagine the rest of his family being anything short of stalwart and honest in their convictions. Hoss is . . . was a remarkable man." Randall's gaze focused on an unseen memory, his head nodding slightly, his melancholy eyes narrowed against the sun. "I still can't quite believe he's gone."

"I know what you mean, Mr. Binghamton." Roy rubbed his upper lip, cleared his throat, and sniffed deeply. "Hardly a day goes by that I don't expect ta see him lumberin' down the street tippin' his hat ta the ladies 'n' offerin' ta help with their packages. Sometimes, I expect him ta come rushin' inta my office with some tall-tale ta tell . . ."

As the two stood in reflective silence overlooking the main thoroughfare of Virginia City, Paul Martin crossed the street just in front of the jail. "Roy!" Paul shouted, waving as he ascended the porch steps. "I'm heading out to check on Ben." Glancing at the stranger next to the sheriff, Paul continued. "Any, uh . . . news you'd like me to deliver?"

Roy glimpsed at the young man next to him. "Paul Martin, this here is Randall Binghamton. He's come all the way from San Francisco to check on the 'guest' out at the Cartwright ranch."

"Doctor Martin," Randall said, his hand extended in sincere greeting, "I understand you've treated M . . . the guest since their arrival here in Virginia City. Sheriff Coffee assures me that the guest is in good health, but I must confess, I would feel better hearing it from you."

"There are no causes for concern at this time, Mr. Binghamton," he assured, "health-wise, that is. I'm heading out to the ranch to check on Ben and I'd be happy for the company if you'd care to join me."

"Thank you, doctor," Randall began, "I would appreciate the company as well. I've rented a mount at the livery, and . . ."

"Doc! Hey, Doc!" From the stairway leading from Doctor Martin's office, Candy shouted and waved, hoping to be heard above the bustling Virginia City crowds. "Doc! We need ya out at the ranch! It's Mr. Cartwright!"

Candy rushed toward the jail as Roy, Randall, and Paul hurried to meet him halfway.

"What is it Candy?" Paul asked as together, the men walked to the doctor's buggy.

"A fever," Candy explained, his outward calm betrayed by the worry in his voice. "Started last night and when Aman . . ." Candy's glance darted from Roy to Paul to Randall, "I mean, when Adam checked him this morning, the fever was higher."

"Candy," Roy said as Paul climbed into his rig, "this here's Randall Binghamton."

Candy quickly scrutinized Randall, struggling to check his immediate opinion of the expensively-suited lawyer. "You're . . ."

"That's right," Randall interrupted, insulted by Candy's obvious quick judgment, "I'm one in the same. And you must be Candy Canaday. Hoss speaks . . . spoke highly of you."

Candy sensed the sorrow in Randall's words, his attitude softening at the mention of Hoss's name. "Well," Candy said, turning his hat's brim over and over in his fingers, "I reckon any friend of Hoss's is a friend of mine."

Randall nodded, accepting Candy's handshake in earnest. "We'd best head out to the ranch," Candy said, sliding his hat firmly into place. "They'll be waitin'."

"They'll be waitin'! You kin be shore o' that!" Flint lowered himself wearily next to Jarvis as the fire crackled and popped in the cold night air.

Riding the five hours from the Ponderosa had taken its toll on Flint and Jarvis, and Jackson Findley's patience was beginning to wear thin.

"Me 'n' Jarvis have been keepin' watch on them fancy Ponderosa ranchers fer more 'n four months now! We seen ev'rything from comin's 'n' goin's to land deals 'n' stock transfers, but I ain't never seen so much mournin' fer one lousy man as I seen at that place. 'N' when that pretty boy showed up after bein' gone all them years, seemed like the wailin' 'n' mopin' started all over agin!"

"He's right," Jarvis agreed, slurping the thick, brown stew gravy into his mouth. "That Cartwright's a real cool one! When he ain't smilin' 'n' dotin' on his old man, he's leanin' all over the ranch keepin' an eye on that little brother. It's like he's some self-appointed savior settlin' in ta keep watch on the family he deserted in the first place!"

Flint gulped the last of his coffee before adding to his partner's story. "Then there's Canaday. He ain't one o' them Cartwrights, but he's jist as protective of 'em as they are of him! What do you reckon makes blood kin take an outsider 'n' make 'em part o' the family? Hell, I don't even trust Jarvis here most o' the time, 'n' he's my flesh 'n' blood brother!"

Jarvis slapped Flint's shoulder, sending him plummeting to the ground in front of the fireplace. "Why you . . ."

"Enough!" Jackson shouted. "Tell me about Amanda."

Grinning heartily, Jarvis watched as Flint scraped himself from the floor and returned to the bench. "Now that perty little wife o' yours, "Jarvis said, "she went 'n' tucked herself nice 'n' sweet between all them Cartwright men! Every time we been back there, they ain't so much as let her outta their sight!"

Jackson's blood surged throughout his veins. He moved silently to the sole window in the front of the cabin, pushing aside its moth-eaten curtains to stare into the moonlit sky. His sudden bellowing order jolted everyone in the cabin. "I want every detail, and I want them now!"

Jarvis and Flint hesitated, neither one wanting to be the bearer of what they knew would upset Jackson Findley.

"WELL?" Jackson shouted, his roar echoing across the room.

"We did some askin' and it seems yer wife showed up in Virginia City a few days ago," Flint explained carefully. "She checked inta one o' them fancy hotels along Main Street 'n' the next day, she hired herself a buggy 'n' a driver."

"Who was he?" Jackson grumbled.

Jarvis struggled to recall the name, and Flint delivered a disgusted look toward his stalling brother.

"It were jist some boy, the nephew o' the livery owner," Flint replied. "Clint somethin' er other. Jist some boy, Mr. Findley. Seems he took yer wife out in the buggy. They was drivin' all around the area, like they was out on a Sunday ride. Then they turned down the road to the Ponderosa and the next thing this Clint knowed, she was standin' there, lookin' out over the lake 'n' then she was lyin' on the ground!"

"She was WHAT?" Jackson cried, spinning quickly to face his men.

Flint stood, his full height of six feet five inches leveling his eyes with those of his angered boss. "She fell ta the ground," Flint repeated, "and that Clint boy put her back in the buggy 'n' drove on down the road to the Ponderosa."

"And?" Jackson demanded, anxious for more information.

"'N' him 'n' Ben Cartwright took her inside the house," Flint continued. "That's when Jarvis came ridin'up. He'd been in town snoopin' around yer wife's hotel room. Next thing we knowed, the rest o' the Cartwrights 'n' Canaday come ridin' in 'n' then the doc showed up 'n' the next time we laid eyes on yer wife, she was walkin' by the windows on the second floor o' the house. They ain't let her so much as come outside since that day. It's gotta be that they know, Jackson. They know you broke jail 'n' they know you'll be comin' fer her."

Jackson paced the floor, bits and pieces of the past few weeks falling loosely into place. Flint, Jarvis, Hall, and Tom sat nervously waiting for Jackson's orders, and as their leader's pace increased, their frazzled nerves stood on end. Since they'd met Jackson Findley, his obvious obsession with controlling his wife made them wonder just how far the unstable man would go to possess and discipline the woman he professed to love.

Jackson's heart raced. Images of Amanda, living content and protected in the Cartwright household, clouded his twisted mind. Thoughts of the Cartwright patriarch holding her close as he comforted her; fantasies of the eldest brother delighting her with stories of his travels; mirages of the little one, the one with the reputation for being free with women, salivating as he watched the curve of her hips and her tantalizing smile. With a sudden, sinister glare, Jackson unsheathed a tirade on the group crowded into the main room of the cabin.

"Amanda Findley is mine!" Jackson roared, kicking an empty chair across the room. "My woman, my wife, my property! Hoss Cartwright thought he could take her from me, lay his dirty hands on her, make promises he could never keep! And look where that got him!" His hands waving wildly through the air, he reached for Jarvis, yanking the man to his feet before shoving him back against his chair. "Beaten, starved, and shackled for the past three months. And I ain't done with him yet! Hoss Cartwright's going to be going home to his beloved Ponderosa, and he'll get there just in time to see his precious Amanda come running to me, begging my forgiveness for her deceit and treachery." Jackson raised his arm into the air and skimmed it across the table, sending half-filled glasses of stale whiskey crashing to the ground. "And she'll stand by my side and watch as her bruised, soiled knight in shining armor crumbles at my feet, bleeding and pleading for me to spare the lives of his beloved father and brothers!" He tossed his head back, shrieking a high-pitched laugh that echoed painfully throughout the cabin. "But it won't matter. They'll all be dead and my sweet Amanda will be right there to watch it happen!"

The gleam in Jackson's eyes twinkled in the dimly lit room. Hall and Tom stared blindly at the floor, the details to Jackson's long-unknown plan raising doubt in both of their minds. Jarvis and Flint sat silently, still huddled closely together on the bench, each one wishing that the other would muster the courage to speak against the murder of five men to gain control over one woman. And the longer Jackson's tirade continued, the more they worried.

"And once their bodies've stopped quivering and their eyes have rolled back against their brains and the last drop of blood's trickled from their mouths, I'll turn my hand to that cheating bitch and show her who's boss once and for all!"

The gleam in Jackson's eyes twinkled in the lamplight and tiny beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and onto his cheeks.

"And then my wife and I will go back to The Lucky A," Jackson continued, seemingly oblivious to the others in the room, "and all that is hers will once again be mine!" Stumbling across the over-turned chair, Jackson clambered to regain his composure. "Where's the whiskey?" he shouted, his eyes scurrying from place to place around the room.

"All over the floor!" Flint replied, pointing angrily at the floor. "You busted the last of it when you cleared the table!"

Furious, Jackson threw the cabin door open wide. "Hiller! Hiller, get down here!"

Jackson continued his rant, peering into the darkness for some sign of Hiller's approach. "Where is that good for nothin' . . .? He knows better than to keep Jackson Findley waiting! HILLER! HILLER get in here!"

"All right, already, Jackson," Hiller said, "I'm here! And I suggest that you stop your caterwauling before you bring every lawman from every neighboring town down on our heads!"

Shocked by his sudden bravery, Hiller stood, face to face with Jackson, nervously counting the seconds until his certain death.

"There is no law in Pioche," Jackson spat, "remember? That's why I picked this town! I could ride into town proclaiming my intentions at the top of my lungs and no one would bat an eye! And that's why you're going into town tonight, Hiller. These idiots didn't bother to stock up on whiskey," he accused, throwing a threatening glare at each of his men, "and since you're the only one I can trust to do a job and do it right, you're going to ride into Pioche and bring back three bottles of their finest!"

"And what about our prisoner?" Flint asked, shrinking against back of the bench as he spoke.

"Hiller?" Jackson asked, a grin creeping across his face.

"You don't need to worry none about Hoss Cartwright," Hiller smirked. "He won't be givin' no one any trouble for quite a spell!"


	52. Chapter 52 - Messages From The Past

**enthusiastically attitude reflective CHAPTER FIFTY ONE****CHAPTER FIFTY TWO**

**_MESSAGES FROM THE PAST_**

"Somebody ride up to house," Hop Sing yelled, carefully placing the heavy tray atop the bedside table. "Ranch hands no stop rider, must be friend."

"Joe?" Adam called from their father's bedside, anxiety swelling in his tone.

Joe drew back the bedroom curtain and blew a sigh of relief. "It's alright, Adam," he replied. "It's Candy and Doc Martin . . . and someone I don't recognize. A man in a suit."

Adam stood slowly, the bed creaking as he did. "A stranger? Joe . . ."

"Candy and Paul are acting natural, Adam," Joe explained, heading for the bedroom door. "I don't think it's anything to worry about."

Adam's weary eyes fell once again to his father and he wrinkled his brow at the sight of Ben's fevered body shivering beneath the fresh, cool sheets.

"You stay here, Adam," Joe said, his heart torn between his own bedside watch and his older brother's need to make up for time lost. "Hop Sing, why don't you meet the doc and Candy downstairs and then see to our visitor? I'll go across the hall and check on Amanda."

Adam voiced no reservations and instead, immediately returned to the basin on the table, wringing the cooling water from the cloth soaking inside. He'd spent the past seven hours in repetition of the same, drifting into a light sleep from time to time as he tended to his sometimes-mumbling, fever-ridden father. Needing a shave, a bath, and a long, uninterrupted sleep, Adam reverted to his position on the edge of the large, four-poster bed. Dabbing the soft cloth lightly along his father's sweat-beaded brow, Adam's thoughts drifted to a time when he shared a week-long vigil at the bedside of his bigger brother, Hoss.

Adam recalled his father sitting precariously on the bed, Hoss's frame filling the mattress as he gasped for every breath, forcing air into his pneumonia-ravaged lungs. Both Adam and Joe had insisted, without success, that their father retire to his own bed before the distress over Hoss's condition swallowed his strength entirely. Ben refused, as Adam and Joe had expected, and less than one hour later, as they'd gathered closely at Hoss's bedside, Hoss had fluttered his eyelids and moaned in a whispered tone, "Whatcha all gapin' at?"

Adam smiled at the memory as he glanced at Ben's prone form. "Pa," Adam whispered, "Paul's on his way up. He'll know what to do. Before you know it, we'll have you up and about. You can't keep lying around, you know!" Adam wiped Ben's neck, lowering the sheet to swab his father's chest. "You've got to beat this, Pa," Adam pleaded. "People in town are gonna talk if something as simple as a rusty nail takes a toll on Ben Cartwright!" Adam tossed the cloth into the basin and tugged gently on the sheet, covering his father's chest and shoulders. "And besides," Adam said, his hazel eyes twinkling, a weary grin threatening his lips, "there's going to be a new Cartwright in this house before we know it!" Adam's eyes welled. "And she's going to need her grandpa to spoil her and teach her to fish and tell her stories about castles and princesses and . . . and stories about her pa."

"What else ya need?" the shopkeeper asked.

"Nothin'," Hiller said, reaching deep into his vest pocket. After tossing several coins onto the counter, Hiller grabbed the four bottles of whiskey and stepped toward the door of the saloon. His horse, tethered just outside the Devil's Grin, startled at his approach, and as Hiller slid the bottles into his saddlebags, he glanced around the still-bustling streets of Pioche. Knowing the sort of people a lawless town attracts, Hiller was far from surprised to find most of the businesses open in the middle of the night. He spoke softly to his mount, took up the reins and walked the short distance to the telegraph office. After retrieving one of the bottles of whiskey, Hiller went inside and smiled at the yawning young man seated behind the telegraph counter.

"Ev'nin'," Hiller said. "I'd like to send a wire."

The young man, clearly bothered by the prospect of movement, strained to raise his eyes to meet Hiller's. "Got it written out?" he asked.

"Matter of fact, I do," Hiller said, sliding his hand into his left front trouser pocket. The note, folded tightly into a two-inch square, fit easily into Hiller's palm, and when he slipped it across the counter, the young man rose lazily from his broken-down chair, the back left leg wobbling as he did.

"Where 'm I sendin' it to?" the man asked, lumbering the short distance to the front of the office.

"Virginia City," Hiller replied, lowering his voice against invisible ears.

With nimble fingers, the man unfolded the paper while Hiller kept a nervous watch on the doorway and out into the street.

"Let's see here," the man said, focusing disinterested eyes on Hiller's stiff, uneducated handwriting. "Mine north of Pioche. No law. Chubb waiting," he read aloud. "What's a Chubb?"

"It's a word in a telegram that I'm payin' you ta send!" Hiller growled, leaning forward against the counter, his stature looming over the young man.

"Alright, alright!" the man cried, quickly regaining his composure. "Is there a name to go with this telegram?"

Hiller shuddered, fighting to keep his outward façade. _Once I do this, I can't take it back. None of it. Not betraying Findley, not contacting Virginia City. Nothing. _With a deep inhale, Hiller placed the whiskey bottle ceremoniously onto the worktop, his grip firm against the bottle's neck. "Some things, like names 'n' the contents of telegrams, are better left forgotten once they're sent," he suggested. Opening the palm of his free hand, Hiller displayed a small stack of neatly folded bills. "The wire goes to Virginia City. Address it to Joe Cartwright."


	53. Chapter 53 - Healing Souls

**CHAPTER FIFTY THREE**

**_HEALING SOULS_**

"Adam! Adam!" Ben cried, his voice gruff, his throat swollen. "Adam, my son! Please, p . . . please come back." Ben pitched in his bed, his legs bending wildly beneath the sheets as he tramped across unseen ground, searching for his eldest son. "Joe and Hoss, they need you. I need you, Adam!"

"Pa!" Adam said, grasping at his father's shoulders. "I'm here, Pa. I'm right here!" Adam sunk against the bed, his hip pressed against his father's thigh; his arms stretched as he struggled to control Ben's thrashing. "Pa, please, I'm right here!"

"Adam!" Amanda pleaded, her delicate hands resting on Adam's back. "I know you want to answer him, but hearing your voice may be making matters worse!"

Adam pushed her hands away and continued his efforts to subdue his delirious father. "How can assuring my father that I'm alive and right here in his room be making matters worse?"

Ben wrenched against Adam's grip, the sound of his son's voice sparking another wave of pleas. "Adam! Where are you?" he implored, tears trickling from his wild, searching eyes. "Hoss is gone, Adam! I can't lose you, too!"

"Pa, you're not going to lose me!" Adam promised.

"Adam," Joe shouted, the quiver in his single word slicing into Adam's heart. "Let Amanda try!"

"Joe?" Ben whispered, pressing against Adam's hold as his eyes darted about the room. "Joseph, is that you, son? Where are you?"

Gently, Adam urged his father's shoulders back against the fever-dampened pillow. He twisted, his eyes boring into Amanda's soul. He nodded, the simple gesture flooding Amanda with emotion.

Quickly, Amanda lifted the cloth from the bowl, wringing it as she did. As she swiped its comforting coolness across Ben's brow, she leaned down, her soothing voice lulling Ben's torment. "Easy, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said. "Please, try and relax."

Ben moaned, the cold chill of the cloth caressing his neck. ". . . have to . . . find . . . my sons!"

Amanda leaned closer. "You will, Mr. Cartwright," she assured, her tender hand caressing his brow. "I promise. First thing in the morning, we'll find them. But first, you need to sleep, gather your strength. Do you think you can do that, Mr. Cartwright?"

Ben's thrashing slowed, his breath coming rapidly, his desperate heart racing.

"Just relax," Amanda crooned softly. "Doctor Martin said you need to rest, and I'm going to make sure you follow the good doctor's orders." After cooling the cloth yet again, Amanda slid the sheet to Ben's waist and gently dabbed his skin, his mumbling and groaning growing weaker with every gentle touch.

"Ad . . .am," Ben muttered, "I can't . . . find Hhhoss."

Amanda's heart ached at the sound of Ben's anguished plea. She raised the sheet and tucked it lightly beneath Ben's shoulders.

"C . . . can't find . . . Hhh . . ." Ben murmered, his eyes drifting closed. "Find my . . . sons."

Amanda's lip quivered. "Shh," she said, caressing his cheek with her fingertips. "Shh."

When Ben's body stilled, Amanda released the breath she'd been holding. Her eyes, heavy with salty tears, stung as she stared at Ben's sheet-covered chest, grateful as it rose and fell in an even, calmed rhythm. She dropped her head in brief, silent prayer, and when she moved to leave the side of the bed, it was Joe who offered a steadying hand of support.

"You did it," Joe whispered. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Adam added sincerely, "Thank you. Now if he can just stay asleep long enough to gain some strength to fight this fever."

"He will," Amanda promised. "I just know he will."

Standing in the doorway, Randall Binghamton shook his head and smiled. Since he'd arrived at the Ponderosa some seven hours earlier, he'd reunited with his long-time friend, listened as she'd conveyed the details of her awkward arrival at the Ponderosa and, after a futile attempt to reassure her that her abusive, murdering conman of a husband would never again share the same air she breathed, he found himself witness to Amanda's future; a future that included Hoss Cartwright's family; a future that, thanks in a large part to those same Cartwrights, had already lightened Amanda's spirit and filled her heart with promise and the sense of belonging Amanda had long ago abandoned.

The early morning hour with its starry, coal-black sky and the occasional rustling of pre-dawn dwellers was shattered by the pounding hooves of a single horse approaching the cabin. Guns drawn and pulses racing, Jackson and his men dashed about the small cabin, each one slipping into sentry position. Shrouded in the shadows, they listened carefully, each one privately predicting the riders' distance from the cabin, and when a familiar whistle signaled openly into the stillness of the night, the men quickly relaxed as Tom rose and unbolted the cabin door.

"It's about time!" Jackson complained as Hiller crossed the threshold. "I was beginning to think you'd decided to leave our little group."

"Pioche is bustlin' tonight, Mr. Findley," Hiller explained, expecting the need to account for his time. "Wouldn't've been smart ta draw attention to myself, now would it? Jist had ta act natural, like I weren't in no hurry atoll."

"What difference does it make," Flint added, his eyes fixed on the whiskey in Hiller's hands. "The whiskey's here now!"

Jackson holstered his gun and swiftly shoved an unsuspecting Flint to the floor. "That's right, Flint!" Jackson yelled. "The whiskey's here and I get the first drink!"

Hiller plunked the bottles atop the warped, splintered table and casually disappeared into the background of the alcohol frenzy. By the time the third bottle was opened, Tom and Hall, hunkered in the corner of the cabin, were engaged in a drunken debate over the difference between a saloon gal and a prostitute. Brothers Jarvis and Flint, weary from their travels and plied with the alcohol, lay unconscious on the bunks at the rear of the room. And thanks to Hiller's continuous pouring, Jackson, even more intoxicated than the rest, sat directly across from Hiller on the floor of the bedroom, the two discussing the finer points of marriage as told by Jackson Findley. Disgusted by his boss's comments, Hiller filled yet another glass and slipped it easily into Jackson's waiting fingers.

"Never let a wo . . . woman get the upper hand," Jackson slurred. "One wrong thought 'n' it's up to the man ta knock some ss . . . sense into her head."

Hiller nodded, raised the same glass he'd been nursing all night to his lips, and pretended to take another slurp of whiskey. "Whatever you say, Mr. Findley."

"Women were put here on this earth ta be used as a man ss . . . sees fit," Jackson said, leaning heavily against the bedroom wall as he drained his glass and held it forward for a refill. "And if I see fit ta whip that bitch I married until ss . . . she can't remember the name Hoss Cartwright, then that's wh . . . what I aim ta do!"

Hiller complied again, and Jackson rushed to bleed the glass dry. Hiller smiled, pleased with the outcome of the first step of his plan: keeping Jackson and his men from taking Hoss away from Pioche until the telegram reached Virginia City and the men of the Ponderosa.


	54. Chapter 54 - Hope From Chubb

**CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR**

**_HOPE FROM CHUBB_**

"What'd'ya reckon it means, Roy?" Clem asked, dropping the telegram into Roy's waiting hand.

"I don't rightly know, Clem," Roy replied, his anxious voice brimming with emotion. "Somebody's doing their darndest ta git the Cartwrights ta ride to Pioche, 'n' you know as well as I do that town's plumb full o' the worst o' the worst! Men that'd jist as easily shoot their own mother as breathe!"

"That's a fact, Roy," Clem reached for his gun belt, slipping it snuggly against his hips, "but the wire mentions Chubb. Now, Roy, you know Hoss's horse hasn't been seen since that day up at Sidewinder Bluff! Both Joe and Candy've been wonderin' ever since what happened to Chubb."

Roy nodded as he sat on the edge of his paper-littered desk. "Ben 'n' me wondered the same thing, Clem. Why, even Adam mentioned when he got back how peculiar it was that Chubb hadn't found his way back ta the ranch. I reckon we all jist started thinkin' he up 'n' died somewhere between Sidewinder Bluff 'n' Virginia City."

Clem yanked his hat into place and stepped toward the jailhouse door. "Roy, if this telegram is for real, the person who sent it knows Chubb by sight and that means he or she knew Hoss."

"That's right," Roy agreed. "And maybe, jist maybe, he or she knows what happened ta Hoss as well! But Clem," Roy continued as he slid from his desk and walked toward Clem, "you 'n' I both know that no matter who sent this, they're tryin' ta draw the Cartwrights to Pioche. And in a town like that, there isn't one living soul worth trusting."

Clem nodded, reaching for the doorknob. "Roy, you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

Roy stayed the door with his left hand.

"A murderer . . ." Clem added, "like Jackson Findley."

"It has to be someone who knew Hoss," Candy snapped, pacing behind the settee. "How else would they know Chubb's name or that the wire should be sent to a Cartwright?" Hands on his hips, Candy glared questioningly at Adam.

"He's right, Adam," Joe agreed. "And if this person has Chubb, he might know what happened to Hoss."

Adam wiped his palm across his face as he turned away from the hearth. 'No law,'" he said. "The wire says 'no law.' Now if somebody found Chubb, recognized him, and wanted to return him, why would they say 'no law'?"

Clem bristled at the tension in the room. "Look," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, "I'm gonna say what we're all thinking. Say someone, someone with no ulterior motives found Chubb. Why, they'd've brought him home or wired that someone should come for him. Plain and simple." Clem crossed the room, stopping between Joe and Adam. "I could even see a lesser person askin' for a reward. But this . . . this is different. Roy and me think there's a chance, just a chance, mind you, that this wire was sent by Jackson Findley. And if that's so, then Findley knows about Hoss's . . . well, his . . ." Clem struggled, embarrassed as he searched for words.

"His relationship with Amanda," Randall said, breaking the uneasy silence. "And if Jackson knows that much, it's likely he also knows that Amanda is here on the Ponderosa."

The pounding in her chest rose quickly into her ears as Amanda listened to Adam's deep, baritone voice reading the telegram for the third time. Standing behind the tall, blue chair, Amanda clung tightly to the velvet-like fabric, her eyes staring blankly at the floor beyond. With each reading, her heart fell at the mention of Hoss's beloved Chubb, and with each anguished feeling, her soul rallied, pressing against her fallen heart, lifting it to face the future that in the past few days, she'd secretly chosen; a future with the Cartwrights on the Ponderosa.

"I'm going," Adam announced, his tone dry and controlled.

Both Joe and Candy straightened, ready to object, expecting Adam to stay with Ben while they accompanied Clem to Pioche.

"I'm going," Adam repeated, his commanding voice staying all opposition.

Candy glanced at Joe, assessing his friend's reaction. "I should be the one to go with Adam and the deputy," Candy said, waving his arm from Adam to Clem. "I'm, uh . . ." Candy stammered, dropping his head as he shied away from curious eyes, "familiar with Pioche and the kind of men who call it home."

Adam's eyes twinkled, delighted by Candy's intriguing confession. "Your knowledge was gained as you passed unknowingly along the perimeter of the lovely town of Pioche, no doubt?"

Candy shook his head, shoved his fists against his hips, and chuckled aloud. "Yeah," he replied, grinning, "somethin' like that."

Adam's grin spread as he nodded at the man who would be his companion for the next two days. "It's settled, then."

Before Adam could finish, he felt the sudden sting of a sharp slap to his arm.

"Hey now, wait just a minute!" Joe complained. "I've got as much right to find the person who's got Chubb as the two of you! And besides, the wire was addressed to me." Joe snatched the telegram roughly from Clem's hand and waved it in front of Adam. "See . . . right there . . . 'to Joe Cartwright.' I'm the one who should go with Candy and Clem!"

Adam rubbed the back of his neck, steeling himself for another in a long list of familiar arguments, his intent being the one that assured that his hot-tempered little brother survived to live another day. "Sorry, Joe," Adam said calmly. "No discussion on this. Pa needs one of us here, and right now," he continued, sudden sadness in his tone, "I seem to be doing more harm than good when it comes to his delirium. He needs you, Joe. And I need to be the one to go to Pioche."

Joe's defensive stature crumbled, the hurt in Adam's voice gripping at Joe's heart. "Alright, Adam, but promise me you'll be careful," Joe said quietly, turning to Candy and Clem as he spoke, "all of you. If it's Findley who's luring you there . . ."

"We'll be careful, Joe," Adam said. "I promise."

"You'll tell him the minute his fever breaks and he's able to understand," Adam said from the doorway to his father's bedroom.

Amanda's lips parted to respond, but as she gazed up at the eldest Cartwright son, his eyes brimming with anguished, unspoken sentiment, she touched her fingertips lightly along his shoulder. "I promise, Adam," she said, curving her fingers around his arm, "Joe and I will make sure your father doesn't find out about the telegram. And we'll make certain he knows that you're coming right back to the ranch."

Adam looked down at Amanda's fair-skinned hand against his black, cotton shirt. He raised his eyes to meet hers, his jaw flexing, his throat suddenly dry. "I don't want him to think I've . . ."

"He won't, Adam," Amanda said softly. "I promise you, he won't."

With a nod of silent thanks, Adam stepped to Ben's bed and laid a gentle hand on his father's forehead. Leaning close to Ben's ear, Adam softly whispered a private thought, stroked his father's arm, and brushed lightly against Amanda as he hurried past her and out into the hallway.

Moments later, Amanda watched from the window through tear-filled eyes as Adam, Candy, and Clem rode from the safety of the front yard of the Ponderosa. She was startled when tender, reassuring hands grasped her shoulders.

"They'll be back. All of them," Joe whispered, fighting the voice in his head as it sent out a glaring warning. "Adam promised."


	55. Chapter 55 - Recovery and Setback

**CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE**

**_RECOVERY AND SET BACK_**

Amanda faded into the background as Joe bathed his father's chest. Ben had slept rather soundly for almost two hours, not long enough, but certainly a relief to his feverish system. According to Paul Martin, the infection in Ben's wound seemed contained, and though no visible sign of tetanus was apparent, Amanda worried as the fever and delirious rants continued during his waking hours. She worried as well about Hoss's younger brother and, with the passing of each hour, she saw Joe's anxiety grow with deeper concern for his father and trepidation for the events about to take place in Pioche.

"He needs a break," Amanda thought. "He'll be no good to his father if he keeps up this pace, and I know a little about how he feels. If that wire was sent by Jackson . . . then Adam, Candy, and that deputy are riding right into Jackson's territory. Oh, they are aware that it's most likely some sort of trap, but they don't know Jackson like I do. They don't know that he'll stop at nothing to get my holdings . . . and me. Oh, Hoss, I wish you were here . . . I need you, your love and your strength." Amanda turned quickly, hiding her tears should Joe look her way. Suddenly, she gasped quietly, grabbing her stomach as her baby scrunched and rolled inside of her womb. "Be still, my sweetheart. No need to fret. I will do whatever I must to protect you, and I'll do all I can to make sure no harm comes to your uncles and your grandpa."

"Amanda?" Joe said, startling her from her thoughts as he touched her shoulder lightly. "You alright?"

Amanda nodded, her voice momentarily deserting her.

"I'm worried about them, too," Joe whispered, glancing at his once again sleeping father. A gentle squeeze to Amanda's shoulder demolished her resolve and released her tears and without a second thought, Joe wrapped her in his tender embrace.

She clung to Joe, sobbing into his chest as he soothed her with hushed words and calming sounds. When the catch in her throat eased, she tried and tried, but failed again to say the words she felt most in her heart.

"It's alright, Amanda," Joe said. "You don't have to say anything." Joe felt her push away, and when she looked up into his sympathetic emerald eyes, he was taken by the honesty reflected back in hers.

"I miss him so much, Joe," she cried, "and I'm so afraid for our child and your father and now, I've opened the door for Jackson Findley to come down on you and your family and I am sorry, Joe . . . so v . . . very sorry!"

Joe pulled Amanda close. "It'll be alright, Amanda," Joe whispered. "I know my brother, and with Candy and Clem by his side, Adam will get to the bottom of this and they'll all be back safe and sound before we know it!"

"Hoss always said Adam was awfully clever," Amanda said, her voice muffled against Joe's chest.

Joe smiled. "Yeah, he is clever at that . . . for a Yankee granite-head!"

Amanda exhaled a chuckle. "Hoss told me you like to tease Adam about his Boston roots." Amanda stepped out of Joe's hug. "You're all so different, you and your brothers, but at the same time, you're so much alike."

"Yeah," Joe agreed, "I know. In fact, that's how I know Adam's going to come riding back into the yard with Candy and Clem and this whole mess with Jackson Findley will be nothing but a bad memory. One that'll fade over time."

"Oh, Joe, I hope you're right," Amanda cried. "If anything happens to Adam or Candy or . . ."

"Adam? What could be happening to Adam?"

Joe and Amanda rushed to Ben's bedside, alarmed that he'd overheard them and relieved that his words sounded clear and alert.

"Pa?" Joe said, sitting along the edge of the bed as Ben's weary eyes fought to focus. "Here, let me get you some water."

Joe turned to the table, only to be met by Amanda's hand holding a glass of freshly poured water. "Thanks," he said, smiling up at her.

"What's happened to Adam?" Ben repeated, pushing against the mattress as he tried to raise his chest.

"Nothing, Pa," Joe said, lifting his father's head and steadying the glass at his parched lips. "Here, take a little more. You've been fighting quite a fever." Joe tipped the glass and his father drank thirstily. "Amanda, would you ask Hop Sing to warm some broth? Doc Martin said we need to get food into him whenever we can."

"I don't want food, Joseph," Ben said, his voice regaining some of its power. "I want to know what's going on with Adam and Candy . . . and did you say Clem, too? What's happened? Where is Adam?"

"We promised Adam that we'd explain, Joe," Amanda said, adding a freshly plumped pillow behind Ben's back and easing him back onto its cool, crisp texture.

"Joseph, you'd best start telling me something," Ben barked, his gruff voice still a fraction of the norm, "or I'll get out of this bed and find out for myself!"

"Lie back Pa," Joe ordered, pressing Ben's shoulders into the pillows.

Amanda took her place on the other side of the bed and with a gentle hand, felt against Ben's forehead. "Looks like the fever's broken!" she said, her swollen eyes suddenly smiling.

Ben, drawn to the calming tone in her voice, searched her face, ensnared by the conflicting emotions he saw in her eyes. "Amanda, my dear, are you alright?" His eyes shot to Joe. "Maybe you'd better start from the beginning. Just what's been happening since I was hurt?"

"HILLER!" Jackson yelled, his drunken drawl carrying across the yard of the cabin. "Where are you, Hiller?"

Stirring from their own stupors, Hall and Tom staggered noisily to their feet. Once upright, Tom's stomach lurched. He tottered, swaying left and then right, and as he steadied his feet, he sped past Jackson, nearly knocking the wobbly man to the ground.

"WATCH IT!" Jackson spat. "What's wrong with . . . oh. I don't need to watch this." Jackson retreated to the cabin, stumbling through the doorway and directly into Hall.

"S . . . sorry, boss!" Hall cried as the two men shared a self-preservation embrace. "You was yellin' 'n' it was real loud! You seen Tom? H . . . he was jist right here. I think."

Jackson squinted, canvassing the room in search of his men. He was able to make out the sleeping forms of Jarvis and Flint, both lying in front of the dwindling fire. Steadying himself along the ramshackle pieces of furniture, Jackson scanned the only bedroom in the dimly lit cabin. "Tom?" he called, the sound of his own voice startling his senses. "Hiller? You two in there?"

"Tom's out here," Hall called, giggling out of control. "He's decoratin' his boots with yer whiskey, boss! Hee hee! You never could hold yer . . . yer . . . Oh, I don't feel so good."

Jackson made his way to the porch, the last whiskey bottle in his hand. Gulping heartily, he watched as Hall and Tom attempted to stand in the fresh, chilled morning air. "I don't care how you're feelin'! Find Hiller. And find him NOW!"

"You gotta pretend ta be drugged till we git to the Ponderosa, Hoss!" Hiller said, his hushed voice carrying through the hollow tunnels of the mine. "There's no way the two of us kin take those five ruthless men. Leastwise not with you bein' half-starved 'n' beaten like ya are. We gotta wait till we git ta the ranch. From what Jarvis and Flint said, that other brother of yours is back. So that'll mean yer pa, Little Joe, Candy, Adam, plus any o' the hands that're around when we git there. That's our only chance, Hoss, don'tcha see?"

Hoss swayed, the links of his shackles tingling against one another. "Other brother? Adam?" The pounding in his head made concentrating an excruciating effort. "Adam's come home? My brother . . ." The fissures on the bottoms of Hoss's feet reminded him that Hiller was right – no matter his rage at Jackson Findley and his men, Hoss was in no shape to put up a successful fight. "Alright," Hoss said, his raspy voice cracking. "We'll do it your way."

Hiller raised the canteen to Hoss's lips, tilting it slowly as Hoss guzzled more than half of its contents. "Easy, Hoss," Hiller said. "We got time. They were all asleep when I Ieft."

"Yeah," Hall said, surprising Hoss and Hiller, "well, we ain't sleepin' now!"


	56. Chapter 56 - What The Future May

**CHAPTER FIFTY SIX**

**_WHAT THE FUTURE MAY HOLD_**

Hiller's hand moved mindlessly to his left hip and the cold grip of his gun.

"Looks like our friend Hiller here has s . . . some explainin' ta do ta Mr. Findley!" Hall said, oblivious to Hiller's posturing.

"Sure does," Tom agreed. "The boss ain't gonna cotton ta nobody tryin' ta help ole Hoss here. Matter o' fact, I'd be willin' ta lay odds that Hiller here won't last ta see the s . . . sun rise!"

"They're drunk," Hoss whispered, "and unarmed."

"And stupid as the day is long," Hiller added beneath his breath.

A tiny grin tugged at the corners of Hoss's mouth. "Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Hoss whispered.

"I am," Hiller replied, "but Jackson has the keys to your chains."

"Jist git one of them over here 'n' follow my lead," Hoss murmured.

Hiller swallowed hard. _If this doesn't work, I'm a dead man, and Hoss ain't ever gonna see the Ponderosa again. _"What are you doin' here, Tom?" Hiller asked, hoping to lure the drunker of the two men into Hoss's reach.

Tom sauntered closer to Hiller, weaving from side to side with every step. "Don't try ta change the subject," Tom slurred. "We heard what you said, Hiller. And we ain't about ta stand by 'n' let the money we was promised s . . . slip through our fingers!"

In the lamplight, Hiller glared at Tom. "Are you two ready ta stand by 'n' let Findley put a rope around yer necks?"

"Mr. Findley knows what he's doin'," Hall said, stepping to flank Tom. "He says there ain't no way none of us is gonna git nothin' but rich off'n this whole thing!"

Droplets of sweat formed on Hiller's brow and his thoughts jumbled about in his mind. His plan had been to deceive Jackson and the others by faking Hoss's condition until they reached reinforcements on the Ponderosa. Hoss had agreed to his plan, which also included Hiller sneaking food and water to Hoss along the way, but Tom and Hall's unforeseen interruption had changed the plan, and Hiller's mettle was beginning to crumble.

Hoss watched Hiller closely and saw the doubt and fear building in his eyes. _He's my only chance . . . My only hope to see Mandy again. _His mind raced, the pain in his head mingling with his options for escape. He winced as he slumped, his wrists paying the price as the sharp edges of the metal shackles cut into his skin. "You fellers ain't gonna git anything but the opportunity to stretch a rope."

"Shut up, Cartwright," Tom yelled, spinning to shove a fist into Hoss's ribs.

Hall laughed as Tom's sudden movement nearly knocked the man from his feet.

Hoss gasped, his breath wheezing in and out of his lungs. Rage grew in the center of his core as memories of Amanda and his family swam through his head. He closed his eyes, soothing his temper and slowing his pounding heart. Painfully, he lifted his head, his knees quivering under his weight. "Findley's plan includes killin', 'n' he don't impress me as a man that'll git his own hands dirty. He already proved that when he hired a gunfighter ta kill his own father!"

"He's right, ya know," Hiller added, catching on to Hoss's approach. "He'll have the five of us be the ones ta pull the trigger while he sits back 'n' gives the orders. 'N' we'll be the ones hunted down as murderers!"

"If you're smart, you'll listen to him," Hoss said. "It's a guarantee that my pa 'n' my brothers will hunt you down if I make it home alive! And if I make it home in a pine box, there ain't no place you kin hide where they won't find ya, and once they do, they'll be measurin' six ropes: one fer each o' you 'n' a special one fer Jackson Findley!" Hoss coughed, a searing pain streaking through his chest. His legs trembled, his body slumped forward, and his bloody wrists strained against his chains.

"Jackson's gonna kill him," Hiller said, nodding toward Hoss. "And he's plannin' to kill the rest of the Cartwrights and his wife, too."

Tom's eyes widened. "His wife?" Tom said. "He's gonna ask us ta kill a woman?"

"That's right," Hiller answered. "'N' you know Flint 'n' Jarvis won't hesitate ta do it! Fact is, they'll enjoy it!"

Hall shook his head. "Jackson never said nothin' about killin' no woman!"

"Not to you," Hiller claimed, "but I've spent more time with him, 'n' I swear on my mother's grave, Jackson plans ta kill everyone who gits in his way. Just like he killed his own father."

Hall and Tom traded glances. Tom paced, his left hand running through his hair as he considered his dark and looming future. In his mind, Hall retold the past few months of his life over and over again and each time he arrived at the present day, he saw a future that included being hunted by the law and the Cartwrights alike.

Hiller watched the pair as they gathered their thoughts. "Jackson has a saddlebag full o' cash," he said. "It's buried about a mile north o' the cabin, on the left side o' the trail back into Pioche."

Hoss raised his head, staring at Hiller as his lies took shape.

"There's a group of rocks shaped like two circles, and it's next to two dead tree stumps," Hiller continued. "If ya leave now, you kin git that money 'n' be halfway ta anywhere by the time Jackson sobers up in the mornin'."

"He's right," Hoss mumbled, his breath still compromised by his aching ribs. "This is yer chance ta make a . . . a clean getaway. Take the money. Git as far away from Jackson Findley as ya can."

Tom's pacing came to an abrupt halt directly in front of Hoss. "'N' what happens iff'n you git away, huh? You tell the law all about me 'n' Hall 'n' we git arrested fer kidnappin'!"

Hoss mustered his last reserves of strength, stretching his body to his full height. "If you two walk outta here right now, I ain't never seen either of you, 'n' I don't remember how I got from Sidewinder Bluff ta Pioche."

Hall grabbed the front of Hoss's filthy, tattered shirt and twisted it tightly in his fist. "'N' we should believe you because . . . ?"

Hoss's jaw clenched as he leaned closer to Hall, their faces just inches apart. "Because I'll do and say anything ta make sure that Amanda Findley 'n' my family survive whatever Jackson has planned . . . even if that means lettin' the likes o' you go free."


	57. Chapter 57 - Spirits and Fists

**CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN**

**_SPIRITS AND FISTS_**

"Something wrong, Clem?" Candy asked, pouring coffee into Clem's waiting cup. "You look like a snake tryin' ta shed its skin before its time!"

Adam snickered as he crouched next to the fire, doling the eggs he'd just overcooked onto three waiting plates.

"If you must know," Clem said, "I'm fine. It's just that I feel . . . well . . . I miss my badge!"

His traveling companions chuckled and Clem's cheeks flared to pink.

"What do know, Adam," Candy laughed, "seems old Clem here feels naked without his tin!"

Clem swatted Candy, nearly knocking the cup from his hand. "I know I had to leave it back at the ranch, but I don't have ta like it! A lawman's star is just as much a part of him as his arm or his leg . . . or his gun!"

"Ya know, he's right, Candy," Adam said, his fork dancing across his plate. "Clem, we're mighty grateful that you agreed to come along as Hoss's friend and not the Deputy of Virginia City."

"Adam," Clem said, "Roy 'n' I agreed. The wire said 'no law' 'n' well, with all your family's been through we figured it'd be best to stick to the letter of the telegram."

"We appreciate it, Clem," Adam replied. "Now let's finish up here. We've still got about two hours of nightfall left before we reach Pioche."

"TOM!" Jackson bellowed. "HALL! " Jackson rested heavily against the sink in the corner of the cabin. The rhythm of the constant drumming in his head summoned whiskey-laced bile into the back of his throat, and he grimaced and swallowed hard. "Where the hell are they?"

Jarvis and Flint, their liquid demons cursing their movements as well, staggered their way out onto the cabin's porch. Fresh, dew-kissed morning air slapped their faces and the early daybreak's sunshine pierced their eyes.

"It's about time you two got out here!" Jackson yelled. "Suppose you tell me what's become of Hall and Tom!"

"What makes you think we know where them two got off to?" Jarvis said, cradling his head in his palm.

Flint grabbed the hitching post with both hands and bent himself in half over its railing. As he raised up slowly, the yard began to tilt and spin. "Didja look in the mine?"

Jackson spun to face Flint, the turn sending his vision into a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors. Jackson's knees buckled and he grabbed hold of the porch railing with both hands. "Of course, I've looked in the mine! Hiller's been out there and back and he hasn't seen any sign of them!"

"That's right," Hiller added as he crossed the yard from the barn. "No sign of them anywhere. Their horses are gone, and I guess they took Cartwright's horse, too. The tracks head out to the west, 'n' from what I kin tell, the trail's several hours old already."

Jackson uncapped his canteen, filled his mouth with water, and disposed of it in a stream that landed uncomfortably close to Hiller's boots.

Hiller flinched, his anger mixing with the fear that Jackson would abandon their hideout before the Cartwrights could arrive.

Flint rubbed his forehead. "Maybe Tom 'n' Hall heard or saw somethin' last night. Maybe they're off takin' care o' some drifter from town that wandered up here."

Hiller picked up on Flint's train of thought. "I think it'd be best if we was to settle in fer the day in case them two come back."

Jackson drew back and planted his right fist against Hiller's jaw. "You're not getting paid to think, Hiller! If we stay here or leave this very minute is not up to you! Do you understand me?"

Hiller stood firm, his eyes drilling into Jackson's. "Why you bastard . . ." Hiller thought, his anger quickly rising to the surface . The metallic taste in his mouth made him gag, and the pain in his jaw thumped against his skull. _Stick to the plan. You can't make any changes. Who knows when you'll get time alone again with Hoss. _Hiller spoke through clenched teeth. "I understand, Mr. Findley."

Jackson grinned smugly, and Hiller smiled deep inside.

"Flint," Jackson shouted, "you and Jarvis saddle the horses and hitch the team to the buckboard. Get Cartwright ready to travel, Hiller. Make sure he's in no shape to cause us any trouble. It's a five hour buckboard ride to the mighty Ponderosa. We'll pull out in an hour."

"BEHIND YOU!" Candy shouted, hoisting himself upright after his roll across the poker table and his most ungraceful plummet to the filthy saloon floor.

"THANKS!" Adam yelled as he lurched sharply to his left, avoiding the fist of a small, round man who reeked from weeks of avoiding soap and water. Adam's successful duck and dodge brought a short-lived grin to his face as a rather large, wide-eyed card sharp picked up where the short man had failed, delivering a blow to Adam's middle that sent him crashing into Clem as the deputy attempted to rise from the floor.

"Sorry!" Adam cried as he pushed off from Clem's back, pivoting on his left foot as a flying salon chair careened past his head.

"Don't give it another th . . ." Clem called, his comment coming to an abrupt end when his jaw met with the knuckles of a tall, wiry man dressed in a gambler's suit.

The sound and sight of Clem's head slamming to the right made Adam wince. "That'll hurt!" Adam mumbled, crawling to his feet with the help of an unsteady bar chair. "Candy . . . Candy . . . Candy . . .ON YOUR LEFT!"

Shards of whiskey-tainted glass sprayed across the room as a large, half-empty bottle was smashed across the back of Candy's head. His body limp, Candy slumped slowly to the floor, toppling two chairs as he groped wildly for a steadying force.

"I said your left!" Adam whined, stumbling slightly as he stepped toward his friend.

"ADAM!" Clem roared. "LOOK OU . . ." Darkness swirled across Clem's vision, the blinding thump against his head coming from an unseen source. As the swirls expanded and linked together, Clem saw Adam's attacker land a wallop against his ribs, and as Clem settled into unconsciousness, Adam slid slowly to the floor, his head coming to rest atop Candy's chest.


	58. Chapter 58 - The Search After Seizure

**CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT**

**_THE SEARCH AFTER SEIZURE_**

Candy was the first to groan, his hand moving instinctively to the warm, wet, crusting gash at the back of his head. He dragged his right foot in the dirt, bending his knee carefully as he attempted to roll to his side. His chest was heavy, each breath a struggle. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, blinking frantically as the glaring sun assaulted his senses. From the corner of his left eye, he saw a black, cloth-covered shape lying across his chest. Raising himself on his elbows, Candy felt the shape roll away from him, thudding as it hit the ground. "What the . . . Adam?" he cried, immediately regretting his spoken words as the throbbing in his head increased with each syllable.

Adam lay next to Candy, seemingly lifeless, his right eye swollen and bruised, and his lower lip caked by a thick trickle of blood.

Candy pulled himself along the ground, his eyes fixed on Adam's chest. "You'd better be breathing!" he warned.

"And you'd better have a good reason for shouting!" Adam moaned, his lips barely moving.

"Oh, good," Candy said flatly, plunking himself against the hard, rocky terrain, "you're alive."

"You sure?" Adam said. "Maybe we're both dead."

Candy scrunched his mouth and tilted his head. "Hadn't thought of that."

"Will you two keep it down?"

"Clem?" Candy and Adam said, their unison voices blending into one.

"Yeah, it's Clem," Clem replied. "Were you expecting someone else?"

Adam smirked, his lip cracking as his flesh stretched the newly formed scab. "Ouch!" he cried, pressing his fingertips to the offending skin.

"Good to know you're still with us, Tin," Candy added, raising himself slowly to his knees. "Looks like it was decided that we weren't welcome in Pioche."

"Leastwise, not in that poker game!" Clem said, slouching forward as he sat upright on the trail. "Hey, Adam!"

"Yeah?" Adam replied, arching his back as he checked for injuries.

Clem pushed off on his thigh, staggering a bit as he stood up. "Remind me again why we acted on Candy's idea instead of mine?"

Adam smiled, splitting his lip yet again. "Damn!" he cried, disappointed that he'd let his sense of humor get the best of him. "We picked Candy's 'cause yours was a bad plan!"

"Oh, yeah," Clem said. "This was the 'good' plan!"

Candy was the last to stand. He doubled over, hands resting on his thighs as his head spun and his pulse thumped in his neck. "Where do ya s'ppose we could find our horses?"

Adam massaged a knot on the side of his neck. "I'm hoping they're right where we hid 'em. What do ya say we mosey on over 'n' see?"

"Moseyin' is about all I can manage at the moment," Candy admitted, walking slowly alongside Adam and Clem.

"Same here," Clem said, dusting off Adam's hat and tossing it into his waiting fingertips.

Adam fought the urge to grin and lost. "OUCH!"

"You alright, old man?" Candy asked, his grin causing no obvious pain.

Adam stopped, cocked his head, and waved in Candy's general direction. "Shut up!"

Clem, several steps ahead, pointed into the brush on the left of the trail. "There they are," he said, "right where we left 'em."

Adam shielded his eyes against the sun, then realized his hat was in his other hand. With a nod of amusement, he plunked his hat atop his head. "Let's get moving. Thanks to Candy's smooth-talking poker game, it shouldn't take long to find that abandoned mine."

"Yeah," Clem said. "I just wish the information hadn't come with so many . . . ouch . . . extra benefits!"

Hoss's mind was filled with visions and scenarios as he lay lifeless in the back of Findley's buckboard. The first thing he'd done as they pulled away from the mine, the buckboard jostling and pitching, was to roll his head into the shadows and smile. He thought of his performance as they'd removed his shackles. His limp body had been dragged from the mine, into the intensity of his first moments in full sunlight in four months, and heaved him unceremoniously into the bed of the wagon. _Wait till Little Joe hears about this! None of 'em suspected that Hiller hadn't pumped me full o' them drugs. _

He thought of the plan ahead, and his silent celebration was suddenly short lived. He worried about the telegram; Hiller's plan to summon his father and brothers to his rescue in Pioche. That plan had been thwarted when Hall and Tom staggered into the mine; sober enough to go running back to Jackson with Hoss and Hiller's deceit; drunk enough to be tricked into saving their own skin and disappearing with the money Jackson had hidden.

The plan was further compromised that morning when Jackson questioned Hiller as to the whereabouts of "Cartwright's ugly mount". As best as Hoss could figure, Hiller had lied to Jackson about Chubb and left the horse behind in the hope that his father and brothers would discover the him, the shackles, and the remains of Hoss's discarded boots. _They'll know . . . they'll know I'm still alive, and they'll track us all the way back to the ranch if need be! _And now, as Hoss's performance continued, Jackson, Jarvis, Flint, and Hiller rode on toward the money's hiding place: the group of rocks next to two dead tree stumps. _Jackson's liable ta explode when he sees his money's gone. I only hope Hiller's thought of somethin' . . . some explanation as ta how them two found the money. If he can't, there might not be any trail fer Pa ta follow._

"Hey, Adam," Candy called, sliding his foot into Scout's stirrup, "how far did that card sharp say it was?"

Adam straightened in his saddle. "He said it was about fifteen miles, up in those hills." Adam squinted into the sun as he scanned the hillside. "Best I can figure, after the tussle in the saloon, someone decided we needed to be robbed and dumped at the edge of town. Now, the poker game started at two a.m., lasted about two hours . . ."

"Then there was the minor disagreement over the extra ace," Clem added.

"There was that," Adam said drolly. "Who knows just how long we were unconscious in the dirt . . ."

"And here we are now," Candy finished. "I'd say we should get to the mine by nine, don'tcha think?"

"Nine it is," Adam agreed, and seconds later, the three riders disappeared into the rocky hills outside of Pioche.

"What do you mean it's not there?" Jackson bellowed as he dismounted. "That's exactly where we buried it, Hiller!"

"I know, Mr. Findley," Hiller said, leaning against his shovel, sweat pouring from his brow. "But it ain't here!"

Jackson marched to the site, grabbed the shovel from Hiller's calloused hands, and poked it into the dirt of the freshly-dug hole.

In the buckboard, Hoss said a silent prayer, hoping that Hiller would manage to talk his way around Jackson's fury.

Jarvis and Flint, their suspicions rising, stood alongside the wagon as Jackson frantically searched for his missing cash.

"Where is it?" Jackson yelled, repeatedly stabbing the metal shovel into the ground. "WHERE IS MY MONEY?"

Hiller recoiled, putting comforting distance between Jackson and himself. "Mr. Findley," he said awkwardly, "you reckon maybe Hall 'n' Tom took it when they high-tailed it outta here?"

Jackson lobbed the shovel against a large rock. "Damn those two!" he shouted. "When I find them . . . and I WILL . . . I'll kill 'em!"

Jarvis and Flint exchanged glances. "We gonna look fer 'em now?" Flint asked.

Jackson turned slowly, his face reddened with anger and frustration. "Of course not! I have more important things to do than chase after those two idiots!" Jackson gathered himself and sauntered back to his horse. "I have a pretty little wife waiting for me, or did you FORGET THAT?"

"No, sir," Jarvis replied, hurrying into the buckboard seat with Flint close behind.

"Check his ropes!" Jackson ordered, and Flint leaned over the buckboard's side to test the ropes that bound Hoss's feet and hands.

Hoss lay still, the temptation to spring up and fight back weighing heavily on his soul. _Don't do it. Jist stay put. Let 'em think you ain't no more of a threat than a newborn babe. For now . . ._

"Hurry up," Jackson shouted to his men. "We've got us a five-hour trip to make and I'm looking forward to getting there sooner rather than later!"


	59. Chapter 59 - Searching For The Missing

**CHAPTER FIFTY NINE**

**_SEARCHING FOR THE MISSING_**

Adam resisted the intense urge to massage his aching neck, knowing that both Candy and Clem would eagerly jump at the chance to comment on his condition. His neck hadn't been the target of any of the powerful fists that had made certain contact with his face during the saloon brawl. Instead, the soreness came from favoring his jaw, the blossoming bruise on his cheek proof that he'd gotten as good as he'd given.

As Scout galloped along, Candy, sitting staunchly upright in his saddle, worked intently on masking the winces and cringes creeping across his face. The back of his head wavered between a dull ache and sharp, piercing pains, neither of which constituted a good day for a long, hard ride.

Clem's ribs hurt with each movement of his torso and his head throbbed as his body rose and fell with his horse's gait. Since his appointment as deputy of Virginia City, he'd had far less scrapes and scuffles than in his more youthful days, and as he rode abreast of Adam and Candy, he was determined to appear unscathed by the events of the night before.

"Adam . . ." Candy said, pulling up sharply on Scout's reins.

"Yeah," Adam replied quietly, "I see it."

Adam nodded at Clem, and the three men quickly reined their mounts toward a large cluster of rocks and brush. They dismounted quietly and tethered their horses securely to some low hanging branches. Adam signaled to Candy and Clem, and after pointing out their positions, they spread across the yard, surrounding the small, ramshackle cabin. Guns drawn, they maneuvered their way closer, creeping silently along the rocks, trees, and outer walls of the cabin. Candy was the first to step lightly onto the porch of the shack. Crouching to clear the only window, he hurried to the door, pressing himself tightly against the frame. A single nod brought Clem to the front corner of the cabin and, seconds later, Adam ran gracefully across the yard, coming to a stop next to Clem.

Candy counted out three fingers and the assault on the cabin began. With one swift kick from Candy's right leg, the cabin door was released from its hinges and toppled loudly onto the wooden floor inside. Scurrying across the fallen door, guns at the ready, Adam and Clem burst inside, each one turning cautiously as they scanned the room. Candy dashed inside and hurried past Adam and Clem, coming to an abrupt stop just inside the bedroom at the rear of the shack.

"Nothing," Candy said quietly, his guard still raised as he joined the others. Leaning next to the threadbare settee, Candy lifted the remains of a broken bottle of whiskey. "But it looks as if someone's been here recently. The bottle's still wet inside."

"Yeah," Clem added, "and it looks as if it was several someones. The footprints in the dust on the floor are different sizes."

Adam's disappointment shone in the frown on his face and the creases along his forehead. "Let's find the mine," he said, his voice stern and cold. "If we came all this way for nothing . . . I just want something to take back! My father and brother have suffered enough . . . and so have you, Candy."

Candy dropped his chin and bit on his lower lip. "Yeah, well, so have you . . . and . . ."

"Yeah, I know. So has Amanda," Adam finished. "Let's go."

Riding in silence, Adam, Clem, and Candy approached the entrance to the abandoned mine. Their senses on alert, they dismounted and tied their horses, drawing their guns in mirrored anticipation of the threat that could lie inside the shaft.

"My head is killing me!" Adam thought as he scanned the area leading to the mine's opening. "And it's not just because of that guy's fist! The man he described before all hell broke loose in that saloon is definitely Jackson Findley. And if Findley is or was here in Pioche, well then, we know who sent that wire. But why?" Adam stopped, slinking his body against the only available cover: a sparse cluster of thin trees. He hesitated, waiting for Candy and Clem to find their own shields. "Findley's not stupid," Adam thought. "He knows the law's after him; the law and every bounty hunter in the territory and beyond! Why would he risk getting caught just to lure the Cartwrights to Pioche?"

Candy waved, signaling his readiness. Adam nodded and turned to spot Clem. A sudden movement in the brush sent Adam to one knee, his eyes sharp and his gun steady. Candy watched Adam's shift and, using every possible rock and tree as cover, made his way closer.

"Someone's in the bushes," Adam whispered as Candy signaled for Clem to stay put.

"You sure?" Candy asked, his voice hushed. "Someone that close would've had plenty of time to clear out when they saw us comin' up the draw."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Adam replied, his eyes narrowed against the sun.

Candy motioned to Clem, and the deputy snaked his way from cover to cover until he took a position below the bushes in question.

"Now what, chief?" Candy asked, his anxious eyes darting to and fro.

Adam glared at his companion. "Chief?" he whispered sarcastically.

"Yeah," Candy said softly. "Chief. Those punches you took last night are bruisin' up to look like war paint! . . . Chief."

Adam shook his head. "Tell me again why my father hired you?"

Candy grinned, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight. "Must have been my charismatic charm."

"Or somethin' . . ."

The bushes rustled again, and Clem charged forward as Candy and Adam split apart and did the same.

"Hold it!" Adam yelled. "You're surrounded! Come out with your hands . . ."

"What the . . .?" Candy asked as he moved clear of his cover and walked forward.

"I never would have believed . . ." Clem added as he reached the brush.

Adam hurried ahead, his arm outstretched as he swept past Candy. "Hello, boy," Adam crooned, his throat tightening. "It's been a very long time . . ." Adam choked, his eyes welling with tears, "but you remember me, don't you, Chubb?"


	60. Chapter 60 - Trust and Secrets

**CHAPTER SIXTY**

**_TRUST AND SECRETS_**

"Why are you stopping?" Jackson yelled, reining his horse alongside the buckboard.

Flint yanked on the brake handle, bringing the wagon to a halt. "This is the last safe place ta water the horses before we hit the main turnoff fer Virginia City, Mr. Findley," Jarvis said. "These horses need a rest. Our passenger ain't exactly light cargo! The next water's awful close ta town 'n' we figured ya didn't wanna go too close ta town, what with them havin' an honest sheriff 'n' all."

"I make the decisions about when and where we stop!" Jackson hollered. "If I need either one of you to figure anything, I'll tell you what and when. Is that clear?"

Flint and Jarvis nodded obediently as Hiller, ignoring the entire conversation, rode up alongside the wagon and used Jackson's temporary distraction as an opportunity to check on Hoss. Unable to discreetly lean far enough to actually see Hoss's blanket-covered form, Hiller watched intently for the rise and fall of the cover. _At least he's still breathing!_

"Hiller!" Jackson shouted. "You've been around these parts before, right?"

Hiller's heart skipped a beat. _He knows. But how?_ "I've been ta Virginia City twice, Mr. Findley, but that was a long, long time ago."

Jackson fidgeted in his saddle and steered his horse closer to Hiller's. "These two say this is the last of the water unless we get mighty close to Virginia City. You remember anything about that?"

Hiller glanced quickly at the hidden form in the back of the buckboard. _Don't move, Hoss. Don't move._ "They're right, Mr. Findley. If we don't water the horses here, well . . . Maybe we shoulda watered 'em good before we left Pioche."

Before Hiller knew what hit him, Jackson leaped across his mount and slid across Hiller's horse, smashing into Hiller's body, sending them both tumbling to the ground. With more speed than any of them thought possible, Jackson pinned Hiller roughly to the ground. "I've had just about enough of being told what I should and shouldn't do! I'm in charge here, do you understand?" Jackson stood, raising Hiller from the ground, yanking him brutally by his jacket collar. "And that goes for the two of you as well!" he warned, shoving Hiller in the direction of the buckboard. "Walk those horses to the water, and when I say we go, we go!"

After filling the canteens and allowing the horses a hurried drink, the group started out once again into the heat of the scorching, noonday sun. Hiller hung in the rear, staring at the lump in the buckboard that was Hoss Cartwright. _That cover's gotta be smotherin'. If I could figure a way, Hoss, I'd git ya some water. But that ain't gonna happen. _Hiller straightened in his saddle, his mind soaring ahead to their arrival on the Ponderosa. _I figure yer family must've gotten ta the mine by now. They'll find Chubb, I hope. Had ta hide him good enough that Jackson wouldn't spot 'em when we left. I jist hope Joe or Mr. Cartwright sees him. And once they go in the mine . . . they'll see yer boots, Hoss. And they'll come after us. And Jackson won't know what hit him! He's expectin' to su'prise 'em at the ranch, not ta be su'prised by them sneakin' up from behind! _Hiller jolted from his thoughts, realizing suddenly that he'd allowed his mount to lag behind. "G'yah," he said softly, spurring his horse until he caught up with Jackson's pace. _Hang on, Hoss. One way or another, we'll git outta this._

Hop Sing placed the ladle back into the pot and handed the tray of soup, coffee, and freshly baked bread to Joe. "You make sure father eat today. Need strength and less worry."

"I'll do my best, Hop Sing," Joe said as he walked away, "but you know Pa, I can't promise anything until we find out what that telegram was about."

Joe climbed the stairs slowly, carefully balancing his father's lunch. As he turned the corner at the top of the steps, he saw Amanda standing just outside of his father's room.

"I'd be glad to see to it that he eats his lunch," Amanda said, offering to take the tray from Joe's hands. "He was so distracted this morning, he hardly touched his breakfast. He seems reluctant to talk about the telegram and . . . and Jackson when I'm in the room."

Joe looked down at the soup sloshing back and forth in the bowl. "That's because he doesn't want to upset you any more than you already are."

"I know, Joe," Amanda said, "but right now, the only thing I can do to take my mind off of Jackson is to help take care of your father, and the calmer we can keep him, the better."

Joe stared into his father's room, still reluctant to share the responsibility of his recovery with Amanda. "I guess you're right. The last time I was in there, he couldn't seem to stop talking about this whole mess." Joe dropped his head, ashamed by his slip of the tongue. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . ."

Amanda smiled halfheartedly. "It's alright, Joe. This is a mess." She started to step away, heading for her bedroom, when Joe's voice caught her by surprise.

"You'll keep him calm?" he asked, offering her the tray. "And make sure he eats?"

Amanda smiled. "I will, Joe. I promise."

Joe winked as she took the tray from his outstretched hands. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything," Joe said as he walked away.

"Oh, I'm sorry if I startled you," Randall said as he closed the front door behind him and slid the bolt into place. "Hop Sing said you were upstairs with your father, and I just stepped out onto the porch for a little air."

Joe blew out the breath he'd taken in haste at the sound of someone entering the house. He saw the expression on Randall's face, and quickly slid his gun back into his holster. "Sorry," Joe said, "but next time, maybe you should knock!"

"I will," Randall assured. "Trust me, I will."

"Lunch ready," Hop Sing announced as he placed a plate of bread on the table. "Little Joe not see to father's lunch?"

Joe and Randall took their seats as Hop Sing spooned soup from the tureen into their waiting bowls.

"Amanda asked if she could stay with him," Joe replied, reaching for the butter and a slice of bread. "Pa won't let himself get all worked up if she's taking care of him."

"And Amanda needs to take care of somebody to keep _herself_ from getting all worked up," Randall added. "Sounds like they're a good match when it comes to this waiting game."

Joe chuckled. "You know Amanda pretty well, then?"

Randall nodded, staying his spoonful of thick soup. "I've known Amanda for seven years now. Her father and mine worked together back in Philadelphia, but I never met Amanda until I moved to San Francisco. Shortly after that, her father took a chance on hiring me, a brand new lawyer, as the Spencer family attorney. I've been with them ever since."

Joe broke off a large chunk of bread and sopped up the liquid in his bowl. "If you don't mind me saying so, you two seem closer than lawyer and client."

Randall smiled, glancing quickly at the staircase across the great room. "We are, Joe," he said. "Amanda has had a lot to deal with in the past few years. She took her father's sudden passing pretty hard. They were very close, just like you seem to be with your father." Randall nodded. "I envy you . . . having a father you can be close to, open with."

"I thought you said your pa was a lawyer," Joe said, his curiosity peaked. "You followed in his footsteps, but you aren't close?"

Randall frowned, setting his spoon heavily against the side of his bowl.

"Sorry," Joe apologized, "I didn't mean to get too personal. Forget I asked."

"No, Joe," Randall said. "It's quite alright. Truth is, I don't know why my father and I aren't close. Seems to me we both took turns trying to find the reason, and it just drove us further and further apart." Folding his hands and resting on his elbows, Randall sighed. "Maybe that's why I took to Amanda so quickly when I came out west. No friends, no family, and there was Amanda. Bubbly, ever-the-optimist Amanda! I was lonesome and she took me under her wing, introduced me around San Francisco, and managed to arrange meetings with every eligible young lady in town!" Randall's eyes narrowed and he stared out the open dining room window. "But none of them held a candle to . . ."

Joe watched Randall closely, the sudden sadness in the man's voice a telling clue. "Amanda? You're in love with Amanda?"

Randall's head turned slowly, his eyes betraying any denial he could muster.

Joe's eyes widened. "You are! You're in love with Amanda!"


	61. Chapter 61 - Confessions and Confusion

**CHAPTER SIXTY ONE**

**_CONFESSIONS AND CONFUSIONS_**

Joe watched as the color drained from Randall's face and pooled in his now crimson neck. Their eyes remained locked, and Joe noted that he saw no sign of denial or surrender.

"Look, Randall," Joe said, his tone carrying a subtle warning, "there's a lot going on around here already. If you're here to . . ."

Randall stopped Joe mid-sentence with a hand held in the air. "I'm here to make sure that Amanda's safe, Joe," Randall insisted. "That's all. And just so you know, Amanda never saw me as anything more than a friend, and she never will. She loved your brother. She still does. And from what I saw of them together, she always will."

Joe busied himself with his soup, hoping to be convinced by Randall's explanation.

"Amanda's always been a personable young woman," Randall said. "She's been responsible for dozens of successful charity functions in San Francisco. She works with the children at two of the largest orphanages in the territory."

Joe sipped his coffee and cradled the cup in front of his face. "If you're trying to make a case for not loving Amanda, you're failing miserably!"

Randall chuckled. "It would seem that way, wouldn't it?" he said. "The truth is, when Amanda met Hoss, she changed. Oh, she still worked for the charities and spent time with the children, but her dedication increased tenfold! I tell you, Joe, from the minute Hoss looked her way, that girl's feet barely touched the ground. She was happier than I'd ever seen her until . . . until the day she heard about Hoss."

"And now?" Joe asked solemnly.

Randall smiled. "Now, all she thinks about is their baby and seeing to it that she knows her father through the memories they shared and the family that he held so dear."

Joe closed his eyes, a soothing vision of Hoss's grinning face washing over him. "And where does that leave you?" he asked.

"It leaves me as Amanda's good friend and attorney," Randall replied, his voice hushed. "And nothing more."

"ADAM!" Clem shouted, his voice echoing through the shaft. "You'd better get in here!"

Adam tested Chubb's reins. Confident that they were secure, he lovingly stroked the horse's muzzle. "I'll be back, boy," he said, his lips curving into a warm smile.

With a small lamp in hand, Adam walked deeper into the mine shaft listening intently to the distant murmur of Clem and Candy's conversation. The dank, musty smell of the mine burned Adam's throat and he coughed as he tried to clear the sensation. Twenty feet into the mine, the stale air gave way to the heavy stench of human waste, and Adam's thoughts drifted to the unfortunate person who might have called the tunnels home.

"Over here, Adam," Candy called, hearing Adam's footsteps. "Take a look at this!"

Adam raised his lamp, his eyes adjusting slowly. He moved closer to the wall, his brows arched in disbelief. "Shackles!" he cried. "Someone was held here in chains?"

Clem continued his search of the area, his lamp casting flickering shadows against the shiny black surfaces. Tiny bits and pieces of bread dotted the floor and drops of dried blood stained the walls. "There's blood on the walls," Clem said, "and lots of boot prints and footprints in the dirt."

Candy explored deeper, shuddering as the temperature dropped and the dampness increased. The shaft came to an abrupt end, the tunnel blocked by shattered beams and heavy rocks. Finding nothing more than boot prints, Candy made his way back to the opening, announcing his return to Clem and Adam. "Nothing up ahead," he said. "Looks like there was a cave-in at the end of this shaft. But nothing else, leastwise, no sign of more shackles or . . . What the . . .?"

Candy stumbled, catching himself against the wall of the shaft. Lowering his lamp, he knelt on the ground and found the source of his mishap. "What's this?"

Clem and Adam added their lamps, lighting the shapes into view.

"Boots!" Candy said, lifting one of the worn leather boots into the air. "Big boots!"

Adam stared at the boot, drawn to its shape and size. He ran his fingers along the soft leather, feeling the indentations and impressions of the fine leatherwork. "These are expensive boots. Maybe even custom made."

"You don't say," Candy said, grabbing the other boot. "Not exactly what you'd expect to find lying around an abandoned mine shaft!"

Clem snatched the boot from Candy's hand and crouched beneath the hanging shackles. "Adam, these boots are the same size as the bloody footprints."

Adam knelt next to Clem and examined the prints for himself, his hand shaking as the boot molded perfectly into one of the prints.

Candy's pulse raced, his forehead wrinkling as he ran his hand through his hair.

Clem glanced from Candy to Adam. "It's obvious that you two are thinking the same thing I'm thinking."

Candy shook his head. "It can't be. This whole thing must be some sort of trick." He stood and paced, "Someone's trying to convince us that . . ." Candy spun to face Adam. "It's been months! The notion's so ridiculous, I can't even say it!"

Clem nodded his agreement. "Candy's right," he said. "There's someone out there who lured us here. Someone who left all of this for us to find. Now, I'm not usually a bettin' man, but I'd wager there's a wire on its way to the Ponderosa right now askin' for a high-priced ransom for information on the whereabouts of a . . ."

Adam bolted to his feet. "A dead man? That's what you were going to say, isn't it Clem? A dead man." Adam hurled the boot against the wall, took one last look at the blood stains along the floor and the shackles hanging from the wall, and stormed out of the mine.

Outside, Adam stood beside Chubb, his hands on the horse's back, his head pressed against Chubb's side.

Candy and Clem paused at the edge of the mine, neither wanting to continue the looming conversation.

Adam nodded his head as he pushed away from Chubb. "You're ignoring the obvious explanation," Adam said, the veins in his neck throbbing. "Jackson Findley."

"Adam," Clem said, crossing the clearing, "we know its Findley. What we don't know is how he got hold of Chubb."

"And Hoss's boots," Candy added, his eyes wild with anger.

"If they are Hoss's boots," Clem added.

"You're not listening," Adam yelled. "They are Hoss's boots! This is Hoss's horse! And God help me, that's Hoss's blood in there!"

Candy patted Chubb's neck, staring into the horse's coal-black eyes. "We don't know that for sure, Adam," he said, anguish in his voice.

"Don't you see? It makes perfect sense!" Adam cried. "Findley is obsessed with his wife. She told us that he's had people watching her, following her every move. We know he has enough so-called friends who live to the left of the law that he can buy or blackmail his way out any situation. His escape from prison couldn't have happened without outside help. And with that many people working for him and his kind, you can bet your life that he knew about Amanda and Hoss!"

Candy and Clem listened intently, waiting for Adam to say something they could disagree with.

"What if Findley was watching Hoss as well as Amanda?" Adam asked. "What if they waited for Candy to leave Hoss alone at the bluff? Hoss was hurt and full of snake venom. In his condition, he wouldn't have been able to put up much of a fight."

Candy shuddered, memories of that painful moment when he left Hoss lying against the rocks passing through his mind. He stalked away, his fists on his hips and his shoulders tense.

"What better time to get their ringleader a hostage?" Adam asked, convinced of his scenario. "Chubb would have gone home or followed Hoss, and we all know he didn't come home! I'm telling you, Hoss was in that mine," he continued, pointing at the looming opening that led to the torture he knew had befallen his brother. "And someone wanted us to come here and find him!"

Clem lifted his hat and scratched his head. "Alright, suppose you're right, Adam," he said, doubt in his voice. "Where is Hoss and where is this someone who wanted us to find him?"

"I think I can answer that," Candy shouted. "Take a look at these."


	62. Chapter 62 - Guess and Guilt

**CHAPTER SIXTY TWO**

**_GUESSES AND GUILT_**

Following the tracks proved unchallenging thanks to the light rain that had fallen over the town of Pioche in recent days. Clem, Candy, and Adam had identified one set of buckboard tracks that appeared to have two riderless horses in tow, as well as two other horses moving in tandem with the wagon. After riding in the silence of deep thought for several miles, Adam and Candy were caught off guard when Clem suddenly pulled up on his reins.

"Look there," Clem said, pointing to the fork in the road that lay beyond the brush just ahead. "The tracks head west: away from Pioche."

"West?" Candy shouted, sitting tall in his saddle as he studied the road. "They're on their way to Virginia City!"

"No," Adam said. "They're on their way to the Ponderosa!"

"Adam," Candy yelled as they coaxed their horses to a full gallop. "I'm starting to believe bits and pieces of your theory, and if it turns out that it's all right, then . . ."

"Then Hoss is alive," Adam shouted, "and most likely in the back of that wagon!"

"I just don't get it, Pa," Joe said, shaking his head. "One meal and a little time with a pretty gal and you look like you're ready for a full day of ranch chores!"

Ben smiled up at his son. "Well, Joseph," he said, "Hop Sing's soup was delicious and, as you all planned, Amanda has done a fine job of keeping my mind from dwelling on that telegram." Ben raised a telling eyebrow at Joe.

Joe fidgeted his hands, not sure how to present himself as innocent. "Pa, I . . . we . . ."

Ben's scrutiny wavered slightly, a soft, grandpa-like smile tugging on his lips. "Amanda and I have been discussing everything from the first time she rode a horse to . . ." Ben's mood sobered suddenly, his eyes searching an unknown, faraway place.

Amanda seated herself on the edge of Ben's bed. She fixed her eyes on his and nodded as she spoke. ". . . to names for the baby."

Joe found himself unable to speak, the reality of Amanda's condition suddenly taking on a new light. _A name for the baby. Hoss's baby. _

"Amanda," Randall said, "I thought you said you had to see the baby before you could name her."

"I did," Amanda replied, "and I do! Mr. Cartwright and I were just discussing family names and names that Hoss . . . that Hoss might like."

Ben reached across his bed and tenderly nestled Amanda's hand in his. "Whatever name you choose will be fine, my dear."

Amanda stared at Ben's gentle hand, his strong, calloused fingers resting protectively over hers. She closed her eyes and trembled, the image of Hoss's hand holding hers moving her to tears.

"Amanda, dear," Ben whispered, "please don't cry."

Joe looked away, his own emotions brimming inside.

Randall found himself at Amanda's side with no recollection of having moved from the bedroom doorway.

The comforting hand grasping her shoulder startled Amanda. She looked up at Randall, his compassionate smile a familiar comfort. "I'm sorry if I've upset everyone," Amanda said. "It's just that . . . well, I was trying so hard to avoid . . . I mean I wanted Mr. Cartwright to . . ." Amanda pulled free of Ben's hand and shirked away Randall's grasp. She hurried to the window, sobbing softly as she wrapped her arms across her chest.

Ben tried to sit forward and failed, falling back against his pillows as he winced in pain.

Joe, immediately at his father's side, watched as Randall crossed the room and comforted Amanda, holding her in his arms as she cried.

"Maybe you should sit down," Randall suggested.

Amanda shook her head. "I'm alright. I'm just so emotional! I can usually get hold of myself when this happens but for some reason, today I can't."

"No need to apologize," Ben said from across the room. "If I remember correctly, it's normal for a woman to be a little emotional when she's . . ."

"Please, Mr. Cartwright!" Amanda cried, pushing away from Randall. "Stop being so nice to me! I know very well that you're worried sick about Adam and Candy and Deputy Foster. And you should be! If Jackson has anything to do with that telegram, there's no telling what's happening in Pioche! And it's all my fault!"

"Amanda . . ." Randall said, lightly touching Amanda's shoulder.

"Don't, Randall!" Amanda warned, jerking her shoulder from his reach. "I thought I was doing the right thing, coming here, trying to protect Hoss's child from the threat Jackson posed from his prison cell. And instead, I've put all of you in the path of Jackson's revenge!"

Ben nodded his head toward Amanda, an unspoken request meant for Joe.

Joe went to her, his gesture the source of a second outburst of tears.

"I'm so sorry!" Amanda cried as she fell into Joe's waiting arms.

"You couldn't possibly have known that Jackson would escape from prison," Joe said. "Or that he would . . ."

"Someone ride into yard!" Hop Sing shouted from the bottom of the staircase.

Joe led Amanda to Ben's side, opened his father's bedside table drawer, and pulled out a pistol. "Stay here," he ordered, handing the gun to his father.

Randall pulled his gun from his holster and together, Joe and Randall rushed from the room.

Trembling, Amanda moved closer to Ben. "Be careful, both of you!" she cried.

Hop Sing, wearing a gun belt and pointing a rifle at the front door, nodded as Joe flattened himself against the grandfather clock and Randall crouched next to the settee. A loud pounding heightened their tension, and Joe cocked his pistol as he stepped closer to the front door.

"Who's there?" Joe yelled, his gun pointed at the entrance.

"It's Roy Coffee, Joe!" the sheriff shouted. "I've got some news from Pioche!"

Joe signaled the all-clear to Hop Sing and Randall. He unlatched the door and Roy hurried inside, holding a telegram in his hand.

"This wire came in from Pioche," Roy said as he handed the paper to Joe. "Seems somebody named Pete Long is plannin' on collectin' the reward for information on Jackson Findley. He says that Findley was spotted in Pioche a day ago at the Devil's Grin Saloon. Says he was with another man and they were talkin' about some other men, a cabin, and an abandoned mine."

Joe read along as Roy explained, his thoughts already drifting to Adam, Candy, and Clem, and the trap they had most likely walked into.

"Oh, Joe," Randall said, "you know what that means!"

"Yeah," Joe replied. "It means that my brother and two of my friends just walked into Findley's trap!"

"Now Joe, we know no such thing!" Roy said sternly. "All we know for sure is that they went to Pioche. Now, there's a posse formin' in Valley Station. There's a U.S. Marshall there by the name of Robertson. He's a good man, Joe, and if Findley's in Pioche, he'll find him!"

"And what if it's too late?" Joe asked. "What if Adam walked right into Findley's trap?"

"What is it, Roy?" Ben asked, his pained voice coming from the top of the stairs as Amanda struggled to keep him on his feet. "What's happened to them?"


	63. Chapter 63 - Going Home

**CHAPTER SIXTY THREE**

**_GOING HOME_**

Beneath the sweltering confines of the heavy blanket, Hoss struggled to stay alert. The rocking of the buckboard lulled him while the frequent bumps and jostles pulled him back to the reality of the ride he'd begun to believe would never happen; after months of captivity, he was on his way home to the Ponderosa. He tried to fit together the pieces of the four-month puzzle, hoping to see a picture that he could memorize and retain. He'd faked his condition as often as he was able, and he'd learned bits of information from Tom and Hall, the two assuming that Hoss's slumped form hanging from the shackles meant he was unconscious. And now, as the wagon bounced and jerked, he tried to calculate how much further they had to go to reach the Ponderosa, but the oppressive heat played tricks on his mind, and he found himself dozing more times than he could count. In his groggy state, he figured that the element of surprise would work in his favor as he contemplated throwing the blanket aside and charging Jarvis and Flint, knocking them from the buckboard seat. He envisioned Hiller joining the attack, eliminating Jarvis and Flint as they lay stunned along the trail, and he felt a surge of false energy at the thought of squeezing the neck of Jackson Findley. Hoss's dream ended when wagon slowed and he felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"How much further?" Jackson shouted.

"Follow that sign at the fork jist up ahead 'n' we'll be on the Ponderosa in ten minutes," Flint answered. "Another half hour and we'll be at the main house."

Jackson grinned, his horse tugging at the reins. "Easy boy!" he said. "Won't be long now. Seems we're both looking forward to seeing sweet Amanda again."

Hoss clenched his fists, his bruised arms aching as the muscles tensed.

"And," Jackson continued, "I'm especially looking forward to handing my wife her precious Hoss Cartwright . . . just before I kill him!"

The thought of Amanda being forced to watch him die made Hoss gasp for every breath as he silently roared inside. His fists clenched, opened, and clenched again, thin streams of blood trickling from inside his palms.

"PA!" Joe shouted, rushing up the stairs to his father's side.

"I'm alright, Joseph!" Ben insisted as he was ushered back down the hallway. "What's happened to Adam and the others?"

Roy followed along, leaving Randall and Hop Sing in the living room downstairs. "Now, Ben," Roy said, "we don't know that anything's happened to them.

"I'm sorry, Joe," Amanda said as she rushed ahead to straighten the bed covers. "He heard the sheriff's voice and there was nothing I could do to hold him back!"

"There's no need to apologize, Amanda!" Ben said gruffly as Joe led him to his bed. "I'm perfectly fine . . ."

"Pa," Joe said sternly, guiding Ben's shoulders back against his pillows, "you're supposed to be resting! Amanda should have kept you in bed!"

"Joseph!" Ben cried.

"Okay, okay," Joe said, lifting his father's legs into the bed. "I'm sorry, Amanda. I should have known you wouldn't be able to take care of my pa . . ."

"JOSEPH!" Ben growled.

"It's alright, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said calmly, pulling the sheet and blankets over Ben's chest, "Joe's right. I should have made sure you stayed in bed, even though you're worried for the life of your son and your friends! I should have sat on you to keep you from getting up!"

Roy shook his head as he stood in the doorway.

"Oh, that's just fine," Joe replied, slamming his fists against his hips as he faced Amanda. "You're making jokes when he could've fallen or . . ."

The sudden high pitch of a loud whistle brought the argument to a halt. All eyes fell on Roy, standing just inside Ben's room. "Well now," Roy said, "that's more like it." Roy smiled as the silence in the room continued. "Ben, we got a wire from a Pete Long. Says he's plannin' on collectin' the reward for information on Jackson Findley. It seems that Pete spotted Findley at the Devil's Grin Saloon in Pioche a day ago. Says he was with another man and they were talkin' about some other men, a cabin, and an abandoned mine."

Ben grasped the edges of the blanket and threw it to the end of the bed. "I knew it!" he shouted. "They walked right into a trap; Findley's trap! Joseph, get my trousers!"

"No, Pa," Joe replied. "You're staying put, and I'm going to Pioche!"

"Joseph, don't argue with me!" Ben ordered.

"He's right, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said, sitting on the side of the bed. "You won't be any help to Adam or the others if you collapse halfway between here and there! Why, you barely made it to the stairs before!"

"I'm going, Pa," Joe said, "and that's all there is to it!"

"Now hold on, Joe," Roy said, moving to block the bedroom door. "Just because Findley was seen in Pioche a day ago don't mean he's still there now! And you got someone here that needs protection, in case Findley's on the move. So this is how it's gonna be. You and your pa are gonna stay right here in this house with Hop Sing and that Randall fella. The two hands that you have posted out by the main road are gonna stay put as well."

"But Roy . . ." Joe complained, his anger flaring.

"There's gonna be no "but Roys!" the sheriff yelled. "I've got a posse formin' in town, and soon as I get back there, we'll be headin' out along the north trail. And there's two U.S. Marshals headin' for Pioche. In fact they might already be there. And we're gonna find Jackson Findley and haul his sorry . . . oh, excuse me, ma'am . . ."

Amanda smiled through her anger and fear. "Sheriff, when you find Jackson, I guarantee he'll put up a fight. And when he does, you do whatever you must to see to it that he can't ever hurt anyone else!" Amanda jumped from the bed and, sobbing, ran through the hall and into her room.

"Joe!" Ben said, nodding to the door.

"Okay, okay. I'll check on her," Joe said. "And Roy, you find Adam and Candy and Clem and bring them back, you hear?"

With one final look in Ben's direction, Roy said, "I'll do my best, Joe, and I'll fill Hop Sing and Randall in on my way out."

As Roy rode off, Joe watched from his father's window.

"Joe," Ben said softly, "you're avoiding checking on Amanda. Please, son, I'll rest easier if I know she's alright."

Joe hung his head, ashamed that he'd been stalling. "I shouldn't have yelled at her, Pa. I'll apologize."

A smile tugged at Ben's mouth. "See if you can get her to come back here. I don't think she should be alone while we're . . . while we're all waiting."

"Sure thing, Pa," Joe said softly as he walked toward the door. He stopped at the doorway, turned, and said, "Adam's alright, Pa. I just have a feeling they'll all be coming home real soon."


	64. Chapter 64 - Closer

**CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR**

**_CLOSER_**

"Amanda," Joe said, knocking lightly on her bedroom door, "may I come in?"

"It's your house," Amanda said quietly.

Joe pushed against the open door, and when he stepped inside, he saw Amanda staring out the window overlooking the back yard. "It's your house, too," he said.

Turning slowly, Amanda wiped the tears from her cheeks. "What did you say?" she asked.

Joe walked closer, pulling a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket. "I said it's your house, too." Joe held out the handkerchief, waiting patiently until Amanda took it from his fingers. "Look, Amanda, Pa sent me to . . . I mean, I want to apologize. I'm sorry for snapping at you. I know how hard it is to stop my pa from doing something once he's got it in his mind. You're part of this family now and . . ."

"What you're saying," Amanda cried, "is that Hoss's baby is part of your family, and you're stuck with me because I'm her mother!"

"That's not what I said!" Joe insisted.

"And you're only apologizing because your father told you to!" Amanda shouted. She hurried back to the window, drawing the curtain open yet again.

Joe followed her, noting the ring Hoss had given her as she twirled it over and over between her fingers.

Before Joe could speak, Amanda let out a soft whimper. "I know it's not . . . I mean, you didn't . . . Oh, Joe, I'm sorry! I'm so worried about Adam and Candy and Clem and . . . well, all of you! And I can't seem to stop these dadburned crying spells!"

Joe shivered. _I'll bet she picked that one up from Hoss._

"And I know I'm supposed to try and stay calm, for the baby, and I shouldn't wear this ring, 'cause we were never really married, but I need to feel closer to Hoss and I'm so swollen that I can't get it on my finger, and . . ." Amanda sobbed, the ring clutched tightly against her heart.

Joe spun her around by her shoulders and tilted her chin upward with his fingertips. "I'm worried too, and I'm having anger spells instead of crying spells," Joe nodded his head in the baby's direction, "and I don't have the excuse that you have for behaving that way!"

"Oh, Joe!" Amanda fell into his arms, burying her cries against Joe's shoulder. "They have to be alright!"

"I know," Joe whispered, his hand gently caressing Amanda's back. "I know. Here, let me wipe those tears." Joe took the handkerchief and dabbed Amanda's face. "Now, we'd best get back to Pa. He's liable to be halfway to the barn by now!"

Amanda smiled up at Joe. "While you're gone, I promise I'll keep him in that bed even if I have to sit on him to do it!"

"Ha, I bet you would, too!" Joe laughed. "But I'm not going anywhere, Amanda."

"You're not going with the sheriff to find Adam and the others?" she asked.

"No," Joe replied. "Pa would do anything he could if there's trouble, but he's not up to as much as his mind thinks he is! And besides, my place is right here, protecting you." Joe watched Amanda's eyes well and overflow, her voice betraying her as she fought to contain her emotions. "Hey, I have an idea. Do you have a chain? You know, a necklace?"

Amanda's brows raised. "Yes, I believe I have one with me," she said as she opened the dresser drawer. "Here it is, but what . . ."

Joe lifted the necklace from Amanda's palm. The gold chain was delicate and shiny, and a single red stone hung on its links. "May I see your ring?" Joe asked.

Amanda handed the ring to Joe and watched as he slipped the chain through it.

"May I?" Joe asked, holding the necklace for Amanda to see.

She turned, lifting her auburn hair from her neck.

Joe hooked the clasp, and when Amanda turned, he saw the ring encircling the small red stone. "Perfect," Joe said. "Now it's close to your heart, where it belongs."

"Tell me again why we're taking the long way to the ranch?" Findley yelled as he rode alongside the wagon.

"'Cause the other way runs too close ta Virginia City," Flint replied. "Too much chance of bein' seen by one of the good citizens!"

"Er that sheriff!" Jarvis added. "He don't look like much, but he don't miss nothin'! Besides, we're pert near . . ."

"Quiet!" Findley whispered, signaling for the group to stop. "Up there . . . see him . . . by that third group of rocks!"

"Yep," Flint answered, grinning at already having the upper hand. "I see him. Looks like the Cartwrights are 'spectin' some visitors!"

"Jarvis," Findley said, "you're a better shot than your brother. You take him."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Findley!" Jarvis grinned as he climbed down from the buckboard. He reached along the footrest, grabbed his rifle, and slinked ahead into the brush, ducking and hiding behind rocks and trees.

Hiller rode up alongside the wagon. _Please, Hoss. Don't do what I know you wanna do. If you make a move and we don't come out on top, you ain't gonna make it to the ranch . . . but Findley will!_

As Flint and Jackson watched from the cover of the trees, Jarvis moved closer and closer to the Cartwright's posted ranch hand. Jackson snickered in anticipation of Jarvis's success. He slapped Flint on the back. "That brother of yours had better not miss!"

"He never does," Flint bragged.

Jackson glanced around, looking to add Hiller to their upcoming celebration. Puzzled by Hiller's attention to the buckboard, Jackson led his horse in Hiller's direction. "What's got your attention, Hiller?" Jackson asked. "Does our friend need another dose?"

Hiller shuddered, his heart pounding against his chest. _THINK! THINK! You can't let him know . . ._

"No, Mr. Findley," Hiller said. "He's still out cold. I was jist thinkin', if Jarvis misses . . . well, we'd best move this buckboard. Cartwright's man's liable ta see it if he comes this way."

Jackson looked suspiciously at Hiller, and just as he was about to dismount and take a look beneath the blanket in the buckboard, a rifle shot rang out. Jackson rushed back to Flint.

"He got him!" Flint yelled, pointing to the Ponderosa ranch hand lying on the ground. "Here he comes! Hey, Jarvis!"

Jarvis returned, walking proudly out in the open. Suddenly, another shot sounded in the distance, and Jackson, Flint, and Hiller watched as Jarvis, his eyes wide with shock, sank to his knees and toppled onto the ground. Down the trail, the ranch hand, lying on the ground, gun in hand, slipped slowly onto his back.

"Jarvis!" Flint cried, running to his brother's side. "He killed my brother!"

Jackson sat tall in his saddle. "One less of us and one less of them. Still even, as far as I'm concerned!" He rode part way to where Flint knelt over his brother. "We'll bury him when this is over, Flint. Now let's get going."

Flint felt as if he was moving through water as he turned slowly to face Jackson Findley. "I ain't gonna leave my brother out here fer the buzzards!" Flint shouted. "We bury him now!"

Jackson's gun was out of his holster and pointed at Flint before Flint could finish his words. "We go now," Jackson ordered, "or you end up lying next to your brother, waiting for those buzzards to arrive. Remember, Flint. With Jarvis gone, you get his share of the money!"

A greedy grin crept over Flint's face. He rose slowly, looking back at his brother one last time. "I'm ready, Mr. Findley. Let's pay a visit to the Cartwrights!"

Hiller breathed a sigh of relief. _I'm sorry about that hired hand, Hoss. But now, there's one less gun to worry about when we git to the ranch._

Beneath the blanket, Hoss, unconscious for the last half hour, fought to awaken from his latest nightmare. In that dream, Jackson had Hoss pinned to the floor as he pummeled Hoss's already bloodied face. In the distance, he could hear Amanda and his father screaming at him to give up and let Jackson win. Over and over, Amanda called out to Hoss, pledging her love to Jackson and denying that she'd ever cared about Hoss. And his father, looking weak and tired, shouted that Hoss was already dead and forgotten.

The buckboard rolled as Flint took over the reins and, below the blanket, Hoss Cartwright twitched.

"Mandy," Hoss shouted in his dream. "I know you love me! I'm coming for you, Mandy! Jist as soon as I take care of Jackson!"

The buckboard rocked as the left wheels crossed a deep ditch, and the pitching of the wagon roused Hoss from his dream.

"Mr. Findley," Hoss heard Flint yell. "The road leadin' ta the yard in front of the house is jist beyond them trees!"

Jackson stood in his stirrups, straining to peer beyond the trees. Slowly, a vision appeared in his mind, its edges blurred and ever-changing. He saw Amanda's stricken face, her eyes wide with horror, her arms out-stretched; beseeching him as he stood over Hoss's seizing body. Jackson grinned and as the hallucination continued, Amanda screamed, her sobs racking her body as the image of Hoss Cartwright took its last breath.


	65. Chapter 65 - Reality Reborn

**CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE**

**_REALITY REBORN_**

Jackson rode tall in his saddle as they passed by the body of the Ponderosa ranch hand lying on the ground. Flint, driving the buckboard, kept his head forward and his nerves steady, never once looking back at his brother, and never giving second thought to the man his brother had shot.

Riding last, Hiller was still amazed and thankful that beneath the blanket in the back of the wagon, Hoss had stuck to their plan. As he passed, Hiller stared down at the hired hand, grinning broadly as the man reached slowly for the blood stain on his left side. _He's alive! _ Hiller glanced at the motionless shape in the back of the wagon. _He's alive, Hoss! And Jackson's down one man! We jist might be alive at the end of the day after all! If you're alive right now, that is._

Oblivious to anything in the past forty-five minutes, Hoss's nightmare continued. This time, his father knelt alone on a pristine hillside, his hat in his hand, his face drawn and dazed. In front of his father's form were four headstones, three bearing the names of his sons, and a fourth, obscured by his father's body, that Hoss was unable to read. The wind rustled the tree along the hill, but for Hoss, the dream remained painfully silent. Candy appeared, walking slowly toward the site, and when he reached Ben, he placed a comforting hand on the grieving man's shoulder. Hoss shouted, feeling the sound climb from his chest to his mouth, "Pa! I'm alive!", but the silence continued. Ben stood and faltered, and Candy grabbed Ben's arm, steadying him as they walked away. Sudden tears blurred Hoss's eyes as he shouted over and over to his despondent father, and when he blinked them away, the name on the fourth gravestone marker came into horrifying focus: Amanda Cartwright.

Hoss lurched, the blanket slipping from the lower half of his body. Panic coursed through his body and he gasped for air as the vision from his dream strangled him. The noiseless din became a steady, one-tone-sound and he grabbed his head with both hands, pressing against his skull as he tried to hush the deafening roar. The blanket slipped further and Hiller, riding close by, panicked when Hoss's arms came into view.

"No, Hoss!" Hiller shouted silently. "Not yet!"

His nightmare played on, Hoss following his father and Candy as they returned to the house. Once inside, he floated along with Ben, climbing the stairs to the hallway that led to the bedrooms of his deceased sons. But instead of retreating to his own room, or that of any of his sons, Ben lingered in front of one of the largest guest room doors. Hoss watched as his father's hand trembling, turned the doorknob. Once inside the darkened room, Hoss saw his father's shoulders heave over and over again as sobs overtook him. He reached for his father, his hand passing through the body he longed to comfort, and when Ben turned and walked from the room, Hoss found he was unable to follow. He twisted and reeled, struggling against an invisible force that held him fast. The bedroom door closed, and while he still fought, a blinding light invaded the room. After a few moments, the invisible chains which bound Hoss suddenly released their hold and he was able to lift one foot and then the other. He crossed the room and studied the suitcase and satchel sitting on the bed, and on the dresser, he saw an unfamiliar yet recognizable hairbrush. But when Hoss examined the bedside table, he staggered his heart pounding in his chest, his pulse hammering in his neck and head at the sight of the simple gold band lying next to the lamp. "Jag älskar dig!" Hoss cried, the words catching in his throat. "Oh, Mandy . . ."

"AMANDA!" Hoss shouted, waking suddenly from his nightmare.

Hiller's hand went immediately to his gun as Flint brought the buckboard to an abrupt stop. Flint turned just in time to see Hoss pulling on the side of the wagon as he wrestled with the blanket. Jackson turned his mount, his eyes wild with exhilaration at the thought of the ensuing battle.

"Well, it seems our friend here has decided to join the festivities!" Jackson cackled, drawing his gun as well.

Hoss managed to sit, his head spinning as he tried to piece together the horrors of his dream and the reality of his situation. "Pa," he whispered, "it ain't true, Pa! Adam and Little Joe . . . it ain't true! It cain't be true!" Hoss coughed violently as the phlegm in his lungs shifted and settled. Each movement earned him a stabbing pain, his bruised ribs bearing down against his swollen body.

Hiller dismounted, hurrying to the side of the buckboard as Flint raised his gun at Hoss. Jackson leaped from his horse, his gun drawn, as Hoss, his head down, a surge of nausea swelling in his stomach, climbed to his knees.

"I got him, Mr. Findley," Hiller shouted, hoisting his own gun in a mock threat. "Jist sit back down there, Cartwright!" Hiller yelled, praying that Hoss was coherent enough to remember their duplicity. "Mr. Findley has big plans fer you, ain't that right, boss?"

Jackson grinned. "That's right, Cartwright!" he said, noticing Hoss's hands grasping the side of the wagon. "We can't have you doing anything to ruin the little reunion I have planned, now can we?" Jackson slammed the barrel of his pistol against Hoss's knuckles.

Hoss contained his anguished cry, refusing to satisfy Jackson's expectation. Hiller cringed at the sight of blood trickling across the back of Hoss's hand.

"Want me ta jist shoot 'im?" Flint asked, standing tall atop the wagon's seat.

"Sit down, Flint!" Jackson yelled. "Nobody's going to shoot anybody! Mr. Cartwright's got places to be and people to see, don't you Mr. Cartwright? You've got to see your precious father and your saintly brothers! Won't they be happy to learn that their beloved Hoss didn't really wander off and die all those months ago? Why, seeing you alive just might cause that father of yours to have a heart attack! And what about Amanda? My sweet, delicious, Amanda. MY Amanda. Did you hear me? She's mine! And when we're alone, I'll show her what a real man can do to a cheating, lying woman!"

Hoss lifted his head, his torso swaying slightly from side to side, his ice-blue eyes searing into Jackson's. "Go to hell!" Hoss spat, his throat tightening on each word as he fell forward against the side of the wagon.

Jackson raised his arm high above his head. "You'll be in hell long before me!" he screamed, swinging his arm downward, the butt of the pistol smashing against the back of Hoss's head.

Hoss's body sank, sliding limply as Jackson shoved him against the floor of the buckboard. "That ought to keep him quiet until I'm ready for him! Now let's get going!"

Hiller recoiled against his horse, unable to move his eyes from the lifeless body in the buckboard. He stared, his mouth agape, until the moment finally came when Hoss's chest expanded. _Thank God! Hoss . . . hang on!_


	66. Chapter 66 - Rejection and Acceptance

**CHAPTER SIXTY SIX**

**_REJECTION AND ACCEPTANCE_**

Randall entered Ben's room, carefully balancing the tray that held the coffee carafe, three cups, and the sugar bowl. Amanda placed a finger to her lips, and Randall nodded at the request for quiet. Ben lay sleeping peacefully, his color quickly returning: a welcome sight after the fever he'd suffered. Amanda left the chair at his bedside and joined Randall at the small table across the room.

"I thought you could use a little coffee and some company," Randall said softly as he poured the steaming liquid into two cups.

Amanda smiled. "The coffee is greatly appreciated," she said, "and so is your company."

Randall sipped his black coffee as Amanda added two teaspoons of sugar to hers. "Sweetheart, this is the first chance we've had to be, well, almost alone," Randall said, glancing over his shoulder at Ben's sleeping form. "You know you can be completely honest with me, right?" he asked.

"Of course I do!" Amanda replied.

Randall's smile was warm, but his eyes were full of anxiety. "Then you can tell me, honestly Amanda, have you decided?"

Amanda set the cup onto the table. She folded and unfolded her hands, finally settling them into her lap.

"You're stalling," Randall said, knowing he'd have to push a bit in order to get an answer.

Amanda looked away, staring at nothing in particular through the window next to her chair. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Randall shook his head. "Don't try to tell me that you don't know what I'm talking about. Even though it was never planned that I would join you here on the Ponderosa, I'm here now, and I'm sure that after a few days of not knowing quite where you stand with this houseful of men, you can use a friendly face!"

"Randall!" Amanda said, instantly ashamed of raising her voice. She stepped closer to Ben, and was relieved to see that he was still sleeping. In a hushed voice, Amanda stepped back to Randall and continued, "It's true that the Cartwrights and Candy and Hop Sing have reservations about me and but really, Randall, can you blame them? After all, I show up on their doorstep with a story about Hoss that would give any father, brother, or friend cause for doubt! And, no sooner do I ask for their help in getting away from Jackson, he escapes from prison, and now we're all in more danger than I could have ever imagined!"

"Amanda," Randall said, "you're turning a most attractive shade of crimson! Here," he added as he guided her to a chair next to the window, "you'd best sit down."

"Well, what did you expect, Randall?" she asked, reaching for the coffee cup Randall held up for her. "You've been here all of a few hours and you're making assumptions that just aren't founded!"

"Sounds to me like you're defending these people," Randall said, leaning against the window frame.

"These people, as you put it, are Hoss's family," Amanda explained, her face brightening yet again, "and yes, I am defending them! Every last one of them!"

"Even Joseph?" Randall asked.

"Especially Joseph!" she cried softly. "They opened their doors to a fainting, married, mysterious expectant woman who claimed to have had . . . I mean been . . . I mean . . . I'm having Hoss's child and all I have to prove it is my word and the ring he gave me! And now, Adam, Candy, and the deputy may have ridden right into Jackson's trap and still, Hop Sing, Ben, and Joe are protecting me."

Randall sipped his coffee, waiting for the rest of what he was sure Amanda still had to say, and although he enjoyed this little game he often used to help Amanda make up her mind, he dreaded hearing the words she was about to say.

"Randall," Amanda continued, oblivious to her friend's knowing smile, "when all of this mess I helped to create is overwith, if the Cartwrights will have me, I'm going to stay here in Virginia City."

Randall's heart ached with Amanda's words. He reached for the carafe, trying to hide his disappointment as he busied himself with warming Amanda's coffee. Staring at the cup, he continued to pour until Amanda's voice triggered his return to reality.

"Randall, stop!" she whispered as she placed her hand atop his. "The cup's about to overflow!"

Amanda righted the carafe, and staring openly at Randall's pale face, she took his hand in hers and asked, "What's wrong, Randall? You're frightening me!"

Randall studied Amanda's face, the intensity in her worried eyes a painful reminder that her feelings for him ended with a great friendship. He looked away, unable to bear her friendly sincerity where he'd longed to see love, and as his eyes traveled, he caught sight of the necklace she wore: the necklace that held Hoss's ring. The need to protect her drew Randall from his anguished thoughts. "I'm fine, Amanda," he said coolly. "I was just . . . hoping that you'd decided to come back to San Francisco. It won't be the same without you."

Amanda stood on her toes and kissed Randall's cheek. "I'll miss you too, Randall," she said sincerely. "But first, Jackson has to be caught, Adam and Candy and Clem have to come home safely, and I have to be invited to stay. And as much as I want to stay, I wouldn't hold any ill feelings for the Cartwrights if they simply asked me to leave." Amanda wrung her hands. "As we said before I came here, how will they explain the wife of a murderer showing up in Virginia City? And when the time comes, which won't be long now, how will they explain Hoss's child?"

Randall shook a finger at Amanda. "Now, just hold on here, Amanda!"

"Shh!" Amanda said, glancing over at Ben. "Keep your voice down!" she whispered.

Randall moved closer to Amanda. "Don't you remember telling me that you would not stand for anyone feeling that they had to explain your child? That the love you and Hoss shared was no one's business but your own? That . . ."

"All of that was before I met Adam and Candy and Joe and, most of all, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said, tears pouring suddenly from her eyes. "Hoss and I fell in love and we . . . we made decisions and those decisions made this amazing little life, but we never, ever meant to hurt his family or put them in an embarrassing position here in Virginia City! But we did! Keeping our relationship a secret has hurt Joe, and maybe all of them, I just don't know! I'm sure the people of this town are going to be difficult to face once the baby comes! But being here, on this ranch that Hoss loved, and with the people he treasured . . ."

". . . is where you and your child belong!"

Amanda and Randall startled at the deep, comforting sound of Ben's voice.

"Whether you stay here with us, or return to your home in San Francisco," Ben said, "you're both a permanent part of this family."

Randall watched from the window as Amanda hurried to Ben's side, accepting his hand as she stood next to his bed.

"Are you sure, Mr. Cartwright?" Amanda cried. "I mean, what about . . ."

"What about nothing," Joe said, all eyes falling on him as he stood watching from the bedroom doorway. "This is your home for as long as you want it, isn't that right Pa?"

Ben beamed at Joe's statement, and as he nodded his head in agreement, his thoughts wandered to his middle son. "We'll take care of her, Hoss," Ben thought. "Amanda and your child."


	67. Chapter 67 - Places

**CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN**

**_PLACES_**

With little more than ten miles to go, Adam, Candy, and Clem were fast approaching the turnoff for Virginia City. With Chubb in tow, they'd ridden hard since the moment they'd left Pioche, and as Clem prepared to split from the group, he couldn't help but leave Adam and Candy with one final warning.

"Adam," Clem shouted as they rode side by side, "remember what we talked about. I've dealt with men like Jackson before, and with most of them, nothing's quite what they lead ya to believe it is."

"Clem," Adam yelled, "I don't need you to tell me how to protect my family. You just get to town and bring Roy and as many men as you can round up out to the ranch."

Clem's worried face caught Candy's glance. Seeing Adam this desperate to save his family was nothing new to Clem, but for Candy, who wanted to get to the Ponderosa in record time as well, riding headfirst into an ambush was not his idea of a successful rescue. Candy opened his mouth to speak, although he had no idea what he might say. His hesitation was interrupted by reassuring words from Adam.

"And don't worry, Clem," Adam hollered. "We'll be careful!"

"Hop Sing be very careful," Hop Sing promised Joe as he shoved his arm into the sleeve of his jacket. "Take side roads and special trail to Virginia City to avoid trouble."

Joe clenched his jaw. The headache pounding against his temples and the waves of tension in his stomach had plagued him ever since Adam, Candy, and Clem had left for Pioche. He already regretted asking Hop Sing to travel to Virginia City for two reasons: with Hop Sing gone, the house was protected by one less gun, and on his way to town, Hop Sing could run into trouble in the deadly form of Jackson Findley.

"Little Joe no worry!" Hop Sing continued. "Hop Sing go to telegraph office. Ask if any news from Mistah Adam or Mistah Candy. Then Hop Sing go to jailhouse and get update on Sheriff Coffee's posse. Then Hop Sing come back to Ponderosa. Chop! Chop! No worry, Little Joe!"

Joe's halfhearted smile seemed to be all the response that Hop Sing needed. With a nod of his head, Hop Sing hurried from the kitchen door, mounted the horse that Joe had saddled for him, and spurred the animal down the road and away from the house. Joe watched from the kitchen doorway, sending thoughts of a safe journey to his special friend.

His arm raised as if halting a Cavalry regiment, Jackson brought his horse, Hiller, and the buckboard to a standstill just beyond the backside of the Cartwrights' barn. They'd been traveling in relative silence, staying within the sparse cover of the brush that outlined the road to the main house. With the information that Flint and Jarvis had gathered, Jackson had determined that the most secure place to hide his captive was inside of the barn – a barn that had a back door hidden from view of the Cartwrights' house.

"Get him inside," Jackson whispered, his eyes flashing with the excitement of premature celebration, "and if he comes to, knock him out again!"

Hiller dismounted while Jackson gathered the reins of both horses and led them into the seclusion of a small bunch of trees. As Flint and Hiller labored to slide Hoss's limp, weighty body from the buckboard, Hiller took notice of the bruises and scabbed gashes on nearly every inch of Hoss's exposed skin. _Hang on, Hoss. I'm not exactly sure what's about ta happen, but you didn't survive this long jist ta let go now!_

Jackson stood impatiently as Flint and Hiller hauled Hoss into the barn, his knees scraping and scuffing along the dirt, his bare toes raking across the straw-covered floor. Hoss's head drooped and rested against his chest. Spittle dripped from between his swollen, split lips and down his bruised jaw, disappearing into the matted whiskers covering his chin. As he was flung on his back, a soft puff of air escaped his open mouth and his wilting arms slapped loudly against the ground. Flint wasted no time in snatching a length of brand new rope from a nearby shelf. Hiller grimaced as Flint wrapped the coarse twine around the scores of slashes and blood blisters that encircled Hoss's wrists.

"If he can so much as wiggle a finger," Jackson warned Flint, "you're a dead man!"

Flint raised his eyes and glowered at Jackson. He yanked on the rope, pulling it snugly around one of the barn's sturdy, pine posts. "Don't you worry none, Mr. Findley," Flint said. "He ain't goin' nowhere! He's hardly had any food fer weeks now," Flint continued, fastening the opposite end of the rope in a figure eight around Hoss's inflamed ankles."His feet 'r all hacked up so's he kin barely walk, and his head's covered with lumps the size 'o doorknobs!" Flint jerked the rope taut, bending Hoss like an Indian's bow, his weight on his side, his arms and legs curving behind his back, mere inches from one another. "'N' Hiller here done filled 'im with enough o' that medicine ta lullaby a elephant ta sleep fer a month!" Flint reached into his jacket and pulled out a set of handcuffs. "'N' these'll add a little extra ta his ropes!"

Hiller grabbed the cuffs from Flint, the fervor in his eyes masking his fear. "Lemme be the one ta put 'em on him," Hiller growled in his most ferocious tone. "Seein' as how I missed out on most o' the fun these past few months!"

Flint hoisted his arm in protest, but Jackson's malevolent snicker halted his swing.

"Let him do it, Flint!" Jackson spat. "You've had enough amusement for the time being!"

Hiller exhaled the precious breath he'd been holding and leaned across Hoss's body. As Flint stepped closer to Jackson, Hiller slipped the cuffs around Hoss's wrists, careful to keep them between the ropes and Hoss's hands. He quickly gathered a handful of straw, piling it loosely around Hoss's wrists, concealing the open teeth of the handcuff's locks.

"What's taking so long?" Jackson said, stepping toward Hiller.

"Let's see you get outta this one, Cartwright!" Hiller snarled, standing quickly to keep Jackson at bay. "Now what, Mr. Findley?" he asked, blocking Jackson's view of Hoss.

Jackson smiled at Hiller, his phony compliance eluding the deranged man. "Get that buckboard out of sight while Flint and I have a look around. Flint!" Jackson said as he walked across the barn. "How many horses are usually kept in these stalls?"

Hiller hurried to the buckboard, his silent prayer that neither Jackson nor Flint would notice the unlocked handcuffs repeating over and over in his head. He backed the team of horses left then right, maneuvering the wagon behind the tall, thick brush, paying special attention to leaving the left back corner visible to the road leading into the front yard. _Now, with any luck, one of the Cartwrights got that wire I sent, made the trip to Pioche, saw the boots 'n' the chains 'n' found Hoss's horse, 'n' that same Cartwright is close behind us knowin' somethin' jist ain't right. And if we're real lucky, they'll be ridin' on in real quick-like and they'll see this here wagon stickin' outta these bushes. That oughta be enough to keep them from chargin' the house without first makin' a plan. _Satisfied that the buckboard was in place, Hiller nervously hurried back toward the barn._ Who knows, maybe that Cartwright'll even peek his head inta the barn 'n' git the surprise of his life!_

Hiller approached the barn, pausing at the doorway to eavesdrop on the conversation inside.

"Flint," Jackson said in eerie calmness, "gather up all of that rope over there. We're gonna need it to make ole Hoss's family nice and comfortable in that big, fancy house."

Hiller watched from the opening as Jackson ran his hands across one of the saddles, his fingers lingering along the intricately tooled leather.

"Seems these Cartwrights have mighty expensive taste when it comes to just about everything!" Jackson said, his loathing displayed in his envious tone as he wandered from item to item in the barn. "The best saddles, the fanciest bridles, tools with no rust or worn handles! Just like at The Lucky A," he cried, his voice hushed with fury. He balled his fist and shook it in front of Flint's face. "My Lucky A, do you hear me? Mine!"

Flint grinned and nodded as Jackson stepped over Hoss's unconscious body. "Just who did she think she was, going off with the likes of him?" Jackson drew his right foot back and thrust it forward and into Hoss's side.

Hiller cringed when Hoss's body lurched with the blow, and his stomach roiled when Hoss offered no reaction to the pain of Jackson's boot against his back. Hiller leaned against the doorframe, mustered his strength, and marched into the barn. "The wagon 'n' the horses are hid, Mr. Findley," he said, placing himself strategically between Jackson and Hoss.

"Good," Jackson said, smoothing his jacket as he fought for some measure of composure. "Flint, you stay here and keep Cartwright company. Hiller and I are about to pay a visit to my lovely wife and her new friends!"

Having worked on the ranch for several months, Hiller knew that Ben and Joe would be formidable in a fight against Jackson, and the news that the other Cartwright son, Adam, had returned to the ranch lessened Jackson's chances of succeeding with his plans. And then there was Candy and Hop Sing. Hiller had seen Candy's impressive gun skills and from what he'd seen and heard, Hop Sing would risk life and limb to defend the Cartwrights. Hiller had no proof that his telegram had drawn any of these men from the ranch, and he also knew that if Amanda was inside with any one of the family, Jackson stood little chance of winning his revenge. _If Hoss comes to, he's gonna recognize where he is, and he's gonna try ta git away and with Flint standing guard, that's gonna get Hoss killed! I gotta make Jackson think he's gonna need all three of us inside that house!_

"Mr. Findley," Hiller said, "I was jist thinkin' on somethin' that ole Jarvis said before . . . well, before he was murdered by that ranch hand." Hiller watched Flint, his eyes turning angry at the mention of his brother's demise. _That's good, Flint! You jist let yerself get mad, boy. Real mad!_ _I've seen the mistakes you make when you're good 'n'riled!_

"Spit it out, Hiller!" Jackson yelled, raising his voice. "What did Jarvis say?"

Hiller stepped closer to Jackson. "He said that Cartwright's oldest son, what was his name? Andy? No, Adam. Jarvis said that Adam has come back home, and that puts another body with a gun inside that house. Now, with old man Cartwright, two of his sons, that hand they fancy so much, and the Chinaman that works for 'em, that makes five guns to our two, unless you take me 'n' Flint with ya. Steadies the odds a bit, don't it? And besides, look at him!" Hiller pressed his boot against Hoss's side, grinned at Jackson, and gave Hoss a shove. "He ain't gonna be wakin' up anytime soon and even if he does, he ain't goin' nowhere!"

Jackson studied Hoss's bloodied, mutilated face. He closed his eyes and pictured Amanda wailing as she crawled on her hands and knees toward Hoss's dead body. His vision suddenly exploded with the sound of her crying out Hoss's name as she held his lifeless body in her arms, and Jackson grinned as, in his daydream, he raised his gun and fired into his wife's grieving body. He laughed, opened his eyes, and saw Flint and Hiller staring at him. "Let's find my wife!" he snarled. "Flint, take us to the back stairs!"


	68. Chapter 68 - Understanding and Rage

**CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT**

**_UNDERSTANDING AND RAGE_**

Unaware of the intruders in the barn, Joe and Randall stood side by side, staring into the pot on the kitchen stove.

"I thought," Joe said, scratching the side of his neck, "being a bachelor without a live-in cook, you'd know a little more about this than I do."

Randall leaned forward, the steam wafting upward from the pot catching him by surprise. He blinked the moisture from his eyes and reached for the long-handled wooden spoon resting to the side of the stove. "Maybe we should stir it?"

Joe shrugged. "Can't hurt!" he said as he snatched the spoon from Randall's hand and swirled the soup carefully. "You gonna stand there till it boils or are you gonna give me a hand with the rest?"

"Oh, yeah, the coffee." Randall grabbed the coffee pot and filled it with cool water from the kitchen sink's pump. "Uh, Joe, where's the coffee?"

Randall's gaze followed Joe's finger toward a cupboard near the sink. He opened the cupboard's doors and discovered the coffee tin on the middle shelf. "Hey, Joe," he said as he walked toward the stove and shoved the metal tin under Joe's nose. "Almost empty."

Joe puckered his brow, clearly disturbed by Randall's interruption. "I was just gettin' the hang of this!" Joe whined.

Randall grinned. "I can see that! Your stirring has improved significantly over the past two minutes!"

Joe presented Randall with a sarcastic smirk. "The storeroom's through that door," he said, pointing over his shoulder. "Coffee's in a sack on the third shelf on the right. Oh, and you'll need to grab the grinder. That's on the . . . second shelf to the left. The lamp's on the left as you step inside."

Randall was about to suggest that Joe get the coffee, but when he turned to see Joe concentrating so intently on the soup, he made his way into the storeroom, snatched the lamp from the shelf, and lit the wick.

"If you think Amanda would rather have tea," Joe shouted, "it's next to the coffee."

"Amanda doesn't like tea," Randall answered. "Well, she doesn't since she . . . since . . . the baby. I understand that for some women, their tastes change while they're . . . expecting."

"You don't have to be so uncomfortable talking about the baby," Joe said. "We're all doing our best to get used to the idea."

Randall stepped into the kitchen doorway, his tone reprimanding. "The 'idea', as you put it, is going to be a living, breathing Cartwright child in several weeks."

Ashamed by his choice of words, Joe shook his head and apologized. "I didn't mean . . . Look, these past few days have been . . ." Joe's face dropped. "Humph. These past few days have been a picnic compared to what Amanda must have been going through since . . ."

"Since Hoss died," Randall said softly. "Amanda can barely say the words aloud, and I can only imagine how difficult it is for you and your family."

The hush in the room pressed firmly against Joe's chest until, endless moments later, the bubbling and popping of the boiling soup pierced the silent mourning.

"So," Joe whispered, "are ya gonna make some coffee or what?"

Randall smiled, swung the sack of coffee onto the kitchen table, and returned to the storeroom for the grinder. Neither spoke as Randall made short order of grinding the beans while Joe gathered the bowls, spoons, and cups for the tray. Several minutes later, the smell of fresh coffee filled the room.

"Joe," Randall said, "I've never known Amanda to be selfish in any way and if I'm right, and I'd bet the farm that I am, she's not going to start now. But when that baby decides it's time to meet her mama and her grandfather and uncles, well, Amanda's going to need the strength of all of the Cartwrights to do it without Hoss."

Joe lowered the ladle into the pot of soup and stared at the liquid as it rushed over the metal rim. "You forgot one thing," he said, smiling across the room. "She's going to need the strength of her best friend, too."

Slowly, Flint lifted the latch on the back door of the Ponderosa ranch house. The door opened silently, and Hiller cursed the Cartwrights for the constant care they paid to their home. "Why couldn't the hinges have creaked?" Hiller thought as he watched Jackson's face and saw his confidence growing with each step he gained toward his revenge.

The plan was to enter the house and go first to the bedrooms upstairs. Details of the layout of the house had been supplied by Flint and Jarvis, both of whom had managed to sneak into the house weeks ago while the Cartwrights, Hop Sing, and Candy were attending a Virginia City Sunday social. Jackson had been forced to rethink his strategy when word of Adam's return had increased the gun power in the house, and Hiller had thought Jackson a fool for saying they would not wait until Amanda was left alone in the house. And so it was that they entered the house blindly, recklessly, with no idea of who and what awaited them as they sought Jackson's self-appointed retribution.

With Flint in the lead, the three intruders made their way inside and Hiller, bringing up the rear, deliberately pushed against the door, leaving it ajar. As they climbed the staircase, the muffled voices of at least two people could be heard. The voices, one obviously male, the other, female, drew them cautiously down the upstairs hallway and toward Ben Cartwright's bedroom.

"Amanda," Ben said, "Joseph can barely make himself a sandwich! I'm not sure what we'll end up eating when that tray arrives!"

Amanda giggled as she marveled at the growing strength in Ben's voice. "All I know," she said, "is that Randall does make a good cup of coffee, but I'd advise you to pass on anything that he serves in a bowl or on a plate!"

In the hallway, Jackson bristled at the laughter that followed. He peered into each bedroom as they moved along, and as he passed Flint, he tucked himself tightly against the wall just outside of Ben's room. _Seems like my little whore of a wife has forgotten about her precious Hoss and cozied up to the mighty Ben Cartwright himself!_

Standing next to Jackson, Hiller focused on the conversation coming from the bedroom. "Joe and Randall," he thought. "I don't recognize the second name, but if Joe 'n' Ben are here, Jackson's in for quite a fight." Hiller glanced at Jackson. "He's practically frothin' at the mouth," he thought. "His face is flushed 'n' I swear I can hear his heart racin' from here! I wish Candy was here with Joe and Mr. Cartwright. I hope this Randall's a good shot, 'cause me and Hoss are gonna need all the help we can git. I ain't never seen Jackson with such a hate in his eyes." Hiller shivered as his mind drifted to the man lying unconscious in the barn. "I ain't never . . ."


	69. Chapter 69 - Surprises

**CHAPTER SIXTY NINE**

**_SURPRISES_**

As she adjusted Ben's bandage in preparation for their meal, Amanda saw him fighting to mask a grimace. It reminded her of the time Hoss spoke about the painful weeks after Marie's passing and how his father had battled to conceal his anguish from his young sons. _Hoss was right. He thinks of others before himself. Like father, like son. _"Your wound is healing nicely, Mr. Cartwright," Amanda said, her soft voice an encouraging, soothing, balm. "Before long, you won't even need this bandage."

With some effort, Ben gathered the corners of his mouth into a smile. "It's because I've had a wonderful nurse tending me."

Amanda returned his smile, guiding him back into the freshly fluffed pillow, her mind wandering beyond the smile to the day she would welcome her child into the world and one last time, say goodbye to the dreams that she and Hoss had shared. She glanced at Ben's face and saw his concerned eyes peering past her smile. Immediately, she tucked her precious memories safely into her heart and stood with her hands on her hips. "Joe did say that he needs you out in the north pasture," she teased. "Something about mending fences and chopping wood . . . ."

Amanda's playful joking stopped short when Ben's eyes unexpectedly shifted to the right and grew wide and harried. The intensity of his focus sent an eerie chill down her back. She stared as Ben frantically grasped his bandage with one hand and, with a desperate groan, stretched the other trembling hand toward the gun atop the night table. Panic gripped Amanda, the hollow in her gut churning with fear and dreaded possibilities. "Mr. Cartwright?" she whispered as she stepped forward toward Ben's bed. "Where is the pain?"

From behind, rough, powerful hands suddenly encircled the pale smoothness of Amanda's neck and squeezed tightly. Her own hands flew upward as she sputtered and gasped for breath while tugging against her assailant's grip. She could still see Ben straining to reach the gun, and despite the fact that her instincts told her to rush to his side for protection, Amanda found herself held tightly in place. Suddenly, a blur of tan darted past her. Horrified, Amanda watched the stranger knock Ben's gun to the floor before slamming Ben's upper body against the back of the bed. Ben cried out, his hands clutching at crimson-stained bandages. She opened her mouth to scream, but the vise-like hand that still gripped her slipped from her throat to her mouth, while the other brutal arm encircled her chest. Amanda watched in terror as the stranger raised his pistol and aimed it directly at Ben's temple.

The man looked over his shoulder and grinned back at Amanda and her captor smugly. He lowered himself slowly to the side of the bed and leaned forward, the gun barrel still dangerously close to Ben's stricken face. "Mr. Cartwright," he whispered, his mouth nearly touching the muzzle that lay against Ben's skin. "I'm gonna help you 'n' the lady. Don't let on!"

Ben's eyes grew wider, panic and fear temporarily subsiding as he tried to place the man. The faces and voices of ranch hands and townsfolk swirled in Ben's mind. The stranger's face seemed vaguely familiar, as did his voice, and as he moved even closer, Ben feared for his life.

"Please," Hiller pleaded, the memory of Amanda's terrified face echoing in his mind, "don't let on!"

Across the way, the intruder's grip on Amanda's chest tightened. She twisted and thrashed her head. Despite her resistance, he lowered his mouth to her neck. Writhing, she retched as his warm, damp breath settled against her skin. She heard him inhale and felt the coolness of his gasp draw the dampness from her flesh. She glanced at Ben, her begging eyes shrouded with fear as the pressure on her chest increased.

"Surprise!" the voice behind her whispered.

As Candy and Adam rounded the bend, the familiar angles of the largest barn on the Ponderosa came into view. They slowed their pace, anticipating the need for a careful approach to the house. Candy glanced at Adam, his own worries mirroring what he saw on his friend's anxious face. "He's sure Hoss is alive," Candy thought, "and God knows I hope he is, but I just don't see how or why . . . ."

Adam's raised hand stayed Candy's horse as well as his thoughts. A quick point to the left revealed the edges of a buckboard jutting from between the brush behind the barn. They doubled back for several yards before dismounting and securing their horses. Adam quickly stroked Chubb after tugging on his tethered reins, and the horse nudged him as he walked away.

"They're here," Adam whispered.

"How can you be so sure?" Candy asked, his hand resting firmly against his holstered pistol. "That rig could be one of ours!"

Adam shook his head as together, he and Candy slinked toward the buckboard, seeking cover behind every possible bush and tree. "No one on the Ponderosa would leave a buckboard out here," Adam said, the anticipation in his voice setting Candy's hair on end. "Not even Joe on his laziest of days!" A tilt of Adam's head sent Candy left while Adam veered right. Dodging among the trees and rocky cover, Adam and Candy cautiously made their way closer to the unfamiliar buckboard.

Adam's heart hammered against the wall of his chest and his mind wandered uncontrollably to scenes of his father, youngest brother, and Amanda besieged by Jackson and his need for revenge. He blinked rapidly, the longing to close his eyes and focus on a living, breathing Hoss thwarted by his obligation to the family he knew to be alive and in dire jeopardy. Candy's whistle, mimicking that of a mountain bluebird, demanded Adam's attention. Hunkered behind some brush, Adam raised himself just enough to locate Candy, and their slight nods set them both into motion. As they advanced, creeping along on either side of the opening leading to the wagon, Adam noted that nothing had been done to erase the tracks that led from the main road, and as Candy approached from the opposite side, he noted the same. Glances and gestures painted invisible tactics in the late afternoon air and moments later, the two men converged on the empty buckboard.

Momentarily frozen, Adam stared into the back of the buckboard, nauseated by the thickened, crimson puddles that eventually streaked to the buckboard's edge. "Someone's hurt badly enough to be dragged from the buckboard," Adam whispered. "Hoss . . ."

Candy recalled the blood-stained rocks at Sidewinder Bluff and his stomach roiled. Visions of chains flooded his mind; handcuffs lying empty amid blood-tarnished soil as they hung from the walls of the mine outside Pioche, and, while Adam stood motionless alongside the buckboard, Candy averted his eyes from the flatbed that had most likely carried Hoss from the cruel confines of the past months to the place Hoss held most dear – his Ponderosa home.

As if a persuading hand had gently grasped their shoulders, both Candy and Adam shook themselves from their thoughts.

Adam's eyes searched left and right, worried that his momentary daze had left them vulnerable.

Candy had the same thought and he moved protectively to stand back to back with Adam before pointing toward the barn's back door. "Over that way," Candy whispered, "when I was coming around, I saw two rows of furrow tracks with lots of boot prints alongside leading right up to the door. Looks like whoever it was got themselves hauled into the barn."

"Whoever!" Adam cried. "We both know it's Hoss!"

"Shh!" Candy replied, his head darting from side to side.

"Don't tell me to . . ." Adam said, suddenly lowering his voice.

"Didja hear it?" Candy asked, his finger slipping with ease to his trigger.

Adam strained to listen, afraid to accept more hope than he'd already allowed to creep into his heart.

Candy twitched at the faint moaning sound. "Tell me you didn't hear it that time!"

"I heard it both times!" Adam replied as he spun around, checking their flank.

Quickly, as if the task had been mapped and planned in advance, Candy and Adam approached the barn's back door. Candy rushed forward and as he flattened himself against the barn wall, Adam sprinted across the short distance and did the same. Together, pistols drawn, they flanked door. Candy grasped the metal handle and with a show of fingers, Adam counted down their next move. On the count of three, Candy slowly raised the lever, quietly pulled the door open, and quickly followed Adam inside.

The familiar scent of hay and the musky odor of horses did nothing to ease their heightened senses as they took turns eyeing the doors and scanning the stalls. Adam's breath came in short bursts as he and Candy, eyes darting from place to place, clung to their pistols' grips with both hands as they moved from stall to stall. When Candy gave the signal to move along, Adam's sharp vision suddenly caught sight of a loosely circled, partially covered rope wound around the base of the next stall's post. Metal glittered beneath the rope, and upon further examination, Adam discovered a thick chain fitting tautly against the post.

Immediately, Adam raised a halting hand and crouched alongside the nearest wall. Candy froze, his heart pounding rapidly in his ears. Cautious, he bent low to the ground and crept closer to the wall alongside Adam, immediately noticing the out-of-place chain. Their eyes met, the scene at the Pioche mine playing over and over in both of their minds.

Adam pointed to himself and then to the post and, finally, to the unchecked stall. Candy agreed with an almost imperceptible tilt of his head before adjusting his stance. Swiftly, Adam held his breath and spun his body, the gun in his hand a mere extension of himself, around the post. His arms dropped slowly, separating as they fell to his sides. He tried to speak, the breathy sounds begging Candy to his side. "H . . . H . . ." Unexpectedly, Adam lurched forward and crumpled to the ground, disappearing from Candy's view.

Startled by Adam's actions, Candy darted forward, the sight before him striking an unseen blow against his chest. Candy wobbled, his legs betraying their strength as he collapsed to his knees. The pounding in his ears was deafening, and although Adam's lips moved, Candy heard no sound other than his heartbeat. Stammering softly, he crawled next to Adam at the back of the stall. Afraid that his mind was deceiving him, Candy reached out and gently touched the body before him. "It's true! It's Hoss! Dear God, what have they done? Adam, please, say he's alive!"

"He's . . . He's breathing," Adam sputtered, his strangled voice an unintentional reminder of the danger still present on the Ponderosa. Gently, Adam flipped Hoss's battered body. "Oh, God! Get me some water!" Adam cried softly, tears pooling in his eyes as his trembling hands cupped the sides of his brother's bruised and bloodied face.

Candy rose and hurried to the barn's front exit, stopping abruptly just inches from the sturdy, closed door. His chest heaving, he absentmindedly licked his lower lip as he thought better of rushing out into the open yard's pump. He spun on his heels and scoured the barn for the buckets that were sometimes neglected during daily chores. None came into view, and Candy silently cursed Joe for doing a thorough job of cleaning the barn earlier that week. Finally, tucked into the corner near the wood bin, Candy spotted a lone bucket. He sped to the pail, relieved to find it half filled with water. He snatched a cloth from the table next to the pail, tossed it into the water and, with his hand firmly against his holstered gun and his eyes flitting cautiously from side to side, Candy returned to the stall where Hoss's unconscious body lay. There he found Adam, his pleading eyes boring into Hoss's face. While Adam worked at the buttons of Hoss's shirt, Candy gasped at the sight of Hoss's injuries. Staring down at the ghostly figure of his resurrected friend, his mind once again visited that fateful day at Sidewinder Bluff. _My God, he's been alive all this time. But Jackson was in prison! He must have had outside help. But why . . . why keep him alive? And why bring him . . . AMANDA! She's inside . . . with Joe and Mr. Cartwright!_

Candy set the pail on the ground and bent down, wringing the cloth as he kept a watchful eye. He offered the cloth, his own hands shaking, and when Adam lifted the left side of Hoss's shirt, bile rose without warning in the back of his throat. He saw Adam's neck heave, fighting the same foul taste as unbelieving eyes stared at the multi-colored bruises, torn skin, and thick scabs on Hoss's chest.

Adam toppled sideways, tears falling freely down his cheeks. His back struck the side of the stall as his fingers closed tightly, clenching the fabric of Hoss's shirt. His mouth hung open. He held his breath.

"Adam," Candy said.

"I know," Adam mumbled, his eyes fixed in a horrified stare. "We've got to help them. God help us, we have to leave Hoss here and help them!"

Adam's own words fueled his determination. He sat forward, grabbed the cool cloth and dabbed gently at the most vicious of the cuts and welts on Hoss's face. "Jackson will kill Amanda when he sees that she's pregnant . . . if he hasn't already . . ." Adam's voice trailed, softening as it built in its resolve, "Amanda, Joe . . . Pa . . . and the baby." Adam jerked as Hoss groaned, the sound nearly imperceptible as it escaped his parched, cracked lips.

Candy leaned forward, his hand resting on Hoss's shoulder. "Hoss, you're gonna be alright now, my friend," Candy promised, looking over at Adam's worried face. "Adam and I . . . we're gonna take care of everything."

Adam bounded to his feet and went straight for the small cabinet near the front door of the barn. He opened the top drawer, reached inside, and removed a gun and several boxes of bullets. After checking the chambers of his own gun, he loaded the other, and handed it to Candy.

Candy stood, torn between Hoss, who had drifted back into unconsciousness, and the family trapped inside the house with Jackson Findley.

Adam knelt next to Hoss, his hand placed tenderly along Hoss's forearm. "Hang on, bigger brother! Adam whispered. "We'll be back. And we'll have just what you need to pull you through." Adam stood tall next to Candy. "Let's end this."


	70. Chapter 70 - Tea and Circumstances

**CHAPTER SEVENTY**

**_TEA AND CIRCUMSTANCES_**

"Staring into the pot won't make the soup warm up any faster!" Randall teased, setting two cups and saucers onto the center of the tray.

Joe gazed into the pot, continuing the circular motion as the wooden spoon blended the broth evenly with the vegetables and small bits of beef. "Well, it took you long enough to make a simple pot of coffee!"

"And I think I'd best deliver this coffee before Amanda bellows from the opposite side of the house!" Randall smiled, pursed his lips, and shivered at the thought.

Joe looked up from the pot, the steam from the bubbling liquid stinging his wrist as he gave the soup a final stir. He considered Randall's comment, and his hand stayed suddenly. "She 'bellows'? This is going to be interesting!"

A sheepish grin settled comfortably on Randall's face. "Maybe that little detail was better left unsaid!" Randall quickly added the coffee pot to the tray, grabbed the sugar bowl and spoons, and hustled across the kitchen. "I'll tell them the soup is on its way!"

Randall crossed the great room carefully, determined to serve the aromatic brew from a spotless tray. He climbed the stairs slowly, cursing himself for filling the coffee pot to its rim as the liquid swished softly beneath the lid. Finally, with his feet planted firmly on the second floor of the house, he turned the corner and made his way toward the invitingly open door, announcing his arrival as he approached. "Hot coffee, freshly brewed by expert hands . . ."

As he entered the room, a rough, forceful hand slapped against Randall's mouth and he felt the cold tip of a gun barrel come to rest against his cheek. His heart skidded from side to side, thumping against the walls of his chest as the tray slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor. Dazed, he labored to comprehend the scene in the bedroom; a scene that seemed frozen in time.

Across the room stood Amanda, the veins in her slender neck tense with fear. Frightened as much by her bulging, terrified eyes and her tightly creased brow as he was the brutal hands clasping her body, Randall barely noticed the prone figure of Ben being held at gunpoint on his own bed. Instead, Randall's eyes were fixed in horror at the man holding Amanda, one hand clamped against her mouth, the other digging his pistol against the bunched fabric of her dress. Randall squirmed against the arms that held him, his futile effort bringing a wide, satisfied grin to Jackson's face.

Downstairs, the clatter from above startled Joe. He dropped the ladle back into the soup pot, set the bowl on the table, and hurried from the kitchen toward the staircase. Pictures flashed in his mind of his father attempting more than he should and toppling to the floor or Amanda's fatigue and understandable anxiety causing her to faint.

Upstairs, Randall's struggle succeeded in nothing more than being able to look to the left. Shocked at the sight of the pink- and red-stained sheets clustered alongside Ben's rigid body, Randall's questioning eyes fixed on the man holding Ben prisoner; a man Randall recognized as having visited Jackson at The Lucky A on several occasions. "Hillman . . ." Randall thought, "no, Hiller! That's his name! Hiller! Think, Randall, think! Knowing his name's not going to get Amanda out of this! But . . ."

Back in the kitchen, Joe rounded the corner into the dining room and in his haste bumped into one of the chairs, sending it to the floor with a thud. He paused to rub his aching shin and cursed the furniture in silence as more causes of the crash he'd heard invaded his thoughts.

In the upstairs bedroom, Jackson's head jerked upright. "Who else is here?" he asked, his hot breath making the fine hairs on the back of Amanda's neck stand on end. A new wave of tears flooded Amanda's eyes as the fog masking the helplessness of the situation began to clear.

Ben, knowing Joseph was now alone in the ranch house below and most likely unaware of their situation, opened his mouth, his warning cut short by Hiller's gun tightly pressed against his temple.

"I'm going to lift my hand," Jackson whispered, his lips brushing lightly on Amanda's cheek as he spoke, "and if you make so much as a peep to warn whoever's out there, Cartwright over there will be dead! You understand?"

Amanda nodded. Jackson lifted his fingers from her mouth and tightened his arm around her shoulders. "Who else is here?"

"J . . . just Joe," Amanda replied. "No one else."

Downstairs, Joe, massaging his upper calf, slowly limped toward the bottom of the staircase. Holding fast to the railing, he stared down at his throbbing shin and yelled, "Everything alright up there Randall?"

Amanda froze in Jackson's grasp. "He'll come up here if we don't answer," Amanda said, "and he'll bring his gun."

"Well," Jackson cried, his voice hushed and wicked, "he'll have to join the party sometime now, won't he?" Once again, Jackson clasped his hand over Amanda's lips. He pressed his body against her back, moving her into the bedroom doorway. "Get him up here," Jackson whispered into her ear, grinning as he paused to nibble on her earlobe and lick her neck. "And don't give him any idea that my little surprise party's about to begin!"

As his hand slid from her face, Amanda choked back a sob. She needed to see Ben's face; needed the strength from him that she'd already grown to depend upon. With her eyes clamped shut, she pictured Adam and Candy, willing their courage onto herself. She knew what had to be done, and with all the resilience she could muster, Amanda swallowed and called down to Joe. "It's alright, Joe," she said, the steadiness in her voice betraying her trembling body. "Randall had a little mishap with the tray. He spilled my favorite tea all over the floor! We'll be needing a few towels from the kitchen."

Downstairs, an icy shiver ran through Joe's body, his breathing labored as his heart raced. _Amanda doesn't like tea . . ._ His eyes flitted rapidly from side to side. His face and neck prickled with instant heat while his mind sifted through the sheer panic. _I need a plan . . . _Quickly Joe plotted his next move. Remaining at the bottom of the staircase, Joe forced himself to exhale and then, in as realistic a tone of amusement as he could render, promptly responded to Amanda's declaration. "What a klutz!" he said, moving swiftly toward the rifles in the cabinet. "I'll be up with the towels in just a minute!"

The latch clicked shut quietly as Candy and Adam left the barn. They immediately separated, Candy rounding the building to the left, Adam to the right. As they'd agreed in the barn, they would make their way the length of the yard between the barn and the house, taking cover in the thick brush to the north and through the livestock in the corral to the south. Ducking and weaving, they approached the quiet house, the eerie stillness contradicting even the best of their fears.

Adam reached the porch first, his breath stolen in anticipation while Candy slipped past the front door, bending as he scurried across the openness of the entry.

Once together, Adam and Candy took hold of the table on the porch and carried it to the edge of the roof's overhang. As they silently lowered the table to the ground, Adam's eyes lingered on the barn, his thoughts locked behind its sturdy, pine door. Leaving his tortured, unconscious brother lying in a heap on the cold, rigid barn floor felt like an abandonment that Adam wasn't sure he'd ever be able to erase from his mind. He'd seen the same anguish in Candy's eyes as they'd placed a canteen of water next to Hoss, covered his motionless body with a horse blanket, and obliged their legs to do the unthinkable: take the steps that left Hoss behind.

Candy bobbed his head in the direction of the front door, and Adam swung himself with ease onto the top of the table. Before Candy reached the door, Adam was making his way across the roof that shaded the Ponderosa's front porch, slinking his body close to the wall, his gun drawn and ready for whatever might come.

Candy, with one hand firmly grasping the cold metal of the latch and the other unconsciously slipping into position around the grip and trigger of his pistol, inhaled deeply, drew his gun, and silently opened the front door. Movement at the Cartwright's impressive gun rack sent Candy into a crouch at the edge of the entry rug and his heart raced as the figure spun, a rifle in his hands.

"Joe!" Candy mouthed, his whisper choked back in his throat. His heart slowed to a steady beat at the sight of his friend standing safely in his living room: a short-lived relief that came to a crashing halt as Joe's panicked face came into focus.

"It's Jackson," Joe whispered as he motioned for Candy to come closer. "Upstairs," he continued, silently sliding a drawer on the cabinet open and removing a box of shells. "He's got Pa, Amanda, and Randall!"

"Randall?' Candy asked, retrieving a backup gun and a second box of shells from the adjacent drawer.

"Amanda's friend from San Francisco," Joe whispered, risking a glance at the open front door, his fingers moving skillfully as he loaded several weapons. "Where's Adam?"

"On the roof," Candy replied casually, sweat forming on his upper lip.

"The roof?" Joe asked, neither man faltering as they loaded their weapons.

"Long story," Candy said, keeping the news from the barn to himself. _Adam and I agreed. We take care of Jackson, and then we take care of Hoss. _"Seems like you've got a story of your own to tell," he added while shoving one pistol into the front band of his breeches. "Adam should be in place by now." Candy raised his eyes to the top of the stairs. "How many?"

Joe slid the last shell into a rifle and clicked the bolt into place, nervously checking the stairs at every opportunity. "Not sure, but a man like Jackson doesn't have the nerve to handle things alone," Joe said, tiny beads of sweat forming on his upper lip as he flicked his head toward the stairs. "I'll take the back way. When you see me, we'll make a grand entrance."

Candy didn't waste the second it would take to nod but instead, gathered a third gun in his hand and sped quietly up the staircase. Joe collected his guns and raced across the room, through the kitchen, and up the back stairs.

On the roof, Adam hunkered down next to Ben's bedroom window. He heard a low murmur, the hushed voices indiscernible. Leaning closer, he risked a glance through the window and caught a glimpse of three armed men in his father's room. He crouched once again, leaning closer to the opening, and his efforts payed off when a higher-pitched voice joined the muttering. _Amanda! _Though he wanted nothing more than to burst through the partially open pane, Adam counted off the agreed-upon minutes until Candy would have, hopefully, located Jackson and his hostages' whereabouts in the house. _Come on, Candy. Come on. I don't know if I can do this on my . . . _

Suddenly, Adam's thoughts crashed around him. Amanda's scream assaulted his senses. His skin prickled and his face grew warm with an anger that spread down his chest and into his core. The fury rose into his ears as the voices from inside the bedroom came into focus. "Candy, where are you?" Adam's silent plea resounded in his head, and he vowed to make his move with or without Candy's help from inside.

"You're pregnant!" Jackson shrieked, his arm, touching her midriff for the first time, swung away from Amanda's middle, repelled by the child inside. "You whore!"

"Amanda!" Randall cried, struggling to no avail against Flint's powerful hold.

Jackson drew his arm back, rage pouring from his eyes. Suddenly, Amanda felt a jarring sting across her face and found herself tumbling backward. Her legs, already trembling, threatened to fail her as she braced herself for Jackson's continuing assault. He lunged forward, insanity in his eyes as he mumbled his accusations, feeding them to an invisible source.

Behind her, his shoulder screaming with each tiny movement, Ben raised himself, only to be shoved back against the mattress by Hiller's forceful hands.

Hiller pressed his lips against Ben's ear. "He'll kill you on the spot!" he whispered.

To Hiller's surprise, Ben pushed back, his strength borne of his courage and his will to protect his family.

"Help is comin!" Hiller said, Jackson's ramblings muffling the conversation. "I saw your son in the window."

Ben jerked his body as a stabbing pain traveled through his chest. With his weary eyes clenched, he thought of Adam and Joe and the peril facing not only them, but Amanda and Hoss's child as well. As the pain lessened, his eyes flew open to the sound of fabric ripping, and Amanda gasping.

Jackson had charged toward Amanda, grabbed her shoulder roughly and, in her attempt to pull away, ripped the bodice of her dress. Amanda growled and swung at Jackson, her arms thrashing wildly, her fists beating at his face and chest.

"Amanda, no!" Ben cried.

Jackson raised his arm again, his eyes insane with hate and anger. "You ugly, cheating whore!" he cried, his hand smashing against Amanda's cheek, sending her spiraling backward.

On the roof, Adam exploded. As Amanda whirled and fell, collapsing on the bed atop Ben's legs, Adam crashed through the window, landing with a thud against the floor. He rolled, reaching for Flint's legs as he did. Yanking the gunman's ankles with both hands, Adam toppled Flint to the floor.

As Flint fell, his hold on Randall twisted. Both men dropped to the floor, and Randall's forehead struck against the base of Ben's dresser.

Near the bed, Hiller tucked his gun between his thighs and reached for the ropes that bound Ben's wrists together. Before he finished unknotting the cord, Candy burst into the room.

Gun in hand, Candy's first sight was Adam rolling in tandem with one of Jackson's men as they fought for control of a gun. Candy spun toward the bed and saw Amanda, her lip bleeding heavily, her dress torn, her hair disheveled, terror in her eyes as she focused on an approaching Jackson.

Amanda tried to right herself from the bed, but brutally, Jackson snatched her up and twirled her around, using her quivering body as a shield.

Adam and Flint continued to wrestle across the floor, each with a hand wrapped firmly around Flint's gun. Candy took aim, waiting agonizing seconds in the hope that the opportunity for a clear shot would present itself. As he raised his gun, Jackson lowered his, pointing it directly at the child Amanda carried in her womb.

"ENOUGH!" Jackson bellowed, spittle spewing from his contorted mouth, but his command came too late.

One last roll gave Adam the leverage he needed to force Flint's gun between them and, with a sudden surge of strength, he pulled the trigger. Flint's body shuddered twice and then lay eerily still.

Amanda's eyes burst open at the piercing sound, relief washing over her when Adam pushed away from Flint's body.

Jackson's rage boiled. He jerked Amanda's body, ignoring her cries as his arm crushed against her ribs.

"Drop the guns, Cartwrights," Jackson shouted at Candy and Adam, "or I end this right here and now!"


	71. Chapter 71 - Home Awakening

**CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE**

**_HOME AWAKENING_**

Everything moved, stretching and buckling from side to side and up and down and at angles that left his stomach unsettled at best. Familiar objects dangled in unlikely positions, heavy things like the blue-patterned settee and the tall china cabinet that should be in her comfortable, Lucky A home were suspended, slanting in a perspective that should have left behind fallen pillows and broken dishes and glasses. But the pillows and tableware sat fixed in their rightful places and somehow, that fact added to the bile rising in his throat.

He raised his left boot from the floor, an invisible burden weighing heavily against his thigh. Pressing on, he lowered the foot and, with effort, lifted the next, and the room pitched and tipped drastically. He reached out hoping to steady the drunken feeling, his fingers digging into the soft upholstery of his father's favorite chair. "This ain't right," he thought, the voice in his head distorted and frail. "Pa's chair ain't supposed ta be on The Lucky A." He turned, much too quickly – or was it the room that whirled before him? Her settee and cabinet had righted themselves, but instead of resting on the dark, wooden-planked floor of the main house on The Lucky A, they sat solidly atop the handmade Indian rug that lay just inside the front door of his Ponderosa home.

His throat was parched, his lips dry and cracked, caked with layers of clotted blood that had trickled along the numerous cuts and slices on his mouth. A soft moan billowed from deep in his chest, and the single word that escaped launched a shudder that ran through his battered body as well as his frayed soul. "Mandy?"

_No answer. Why are her things here? _He tried to move his hand, his knuckles white, his bruised fingers refusing to abandon their hold on the chair._ I'm confused. I must be in the wrong place. _He faced the front door, its hinges wavering in and out of focus. "Pa!" he called, his raspy voice still failing him. _Why cain't I yell? They ain't gonna hear me if I cain't yell. _He spun around, pain shooting across his ribs and into his abdomen._ Everything hurts! How did I get so messed up? . . . I was with Candy, 'n' there was a snake 'n' . . . . _Suddenly, his fingers were liberated and, slowly, he raised his trembling hand in front of his face. Staring at the deep lines and calluses etched into his palm, he staggered as everything beyond his hand swirled and then, just as suddenly, stopped. Lowering his hand, his surroundings came into focus: black walls, jagged protrusions dotting their damp, shiny surfaces. A shiver ran up his spine as the temperature in the air around him plummeted. He pivoted in a circle, the gashes in his now naked feet screaming in his head as he searched the room for the misplaced furniture he'd just seen and the comfortable warmth he'd just experienced. _What the . . . ?_

He took a step, the uneven ground stirring his fears of the spinning world's return. His feet registered the cold, rutted ground. The toes of his left foot bumped against a hard metal surface, and the slight clanging of the metal made him gasp in horror. _The mine! I'm back in the mine!_ Drops of sweat appeared on his creased forehead. His heart threatened the walls of his chest, his pulse visible in the veins of his neck. "Joe?" he called, unsure of the reason. _Joe ain't here. So, why would I . . . Hiller! Hiller said he was gonna git help. He sent for Joe! _Piercing cramps passed from one side of his head to the other, his eyes clamping shut under the pressure. The floor of the mine pitched and weaved, jostling him while he groped around for something to steady his legs. His eyes refused to open, and he dug his fingers against his eyelids, hoping to relieve at least a little of the heaviness. _I feel like I'm movin', but I know I ain't. _While his eyes remained clenched, familiar sounds echoed in his head. _Wheels? That sounds like wheels . . . on a buckboard! How kin I be on a . . . _"Adam?" he called silently. _Adam's been away for years! Why would I call fer him? I don't under . . . What's that? Adam? Is that you? I hear ya callin' me, Adam, but I don't know where ya are! I'm here! But I don't know where 'here' is! I can't git to ya, Adam! I can't find ya! Candy? Are you there, too? Are ya comin' for me? I'm here, and . . . JACKSON! Jackson's here! He's the one that's got me! He's comin' for ya! For all of ya! _

Panic ripped through Hoss's soul. His eyes opened, and for the first time since the nightmare began, the room stood fixed. His vision was blurred, and his painful injuries no longer belonged to the Hoss in his dreams as suddenly, they became his own. He winced as he raised his leg, bending his knee and sliding his foot across the ground. Only then did he realize he was lying down, the loft of the Ponderosa's main barn looming above him. His fingers curled, filling his palms with sharp pieces of hay that pierced his skin as his fists tightened. "How did I get here?" he thought as he attempted a painful roll onto his left side. He moaned aloud, his voice sounding like that of a stranger. A canteen caught his eye, and he stretched his arm to reach it, a stretch that was further than his shoulder intended to allow. He sighed, his muscles rebelling against his every move. He managed to grab hold of the canteen just before he flopped onto his back. Twisting the canteen's cap proved to be an agonizing chore, the skin of his cracked fingertips aching with each turn. He willed his neck to raise his head, his pleas unanswered at first. Again he sighed, his parched throat begging for a soothing balm. "Again", he thought, summoning energy from his extremities as he pushed his head upward to the waiting canteen's opening. The cool water poured past his lips, softening the scabs left behind by Jackson and his men. Swallowing proved difficult, the irritated muscles in his throat protesting as he gulped his fill. The simple task of holding the canteen sent his arm into a spasm, its trembling spilling the precious liquid over his chin and across his neck. His muscles surrendered and somehow, he managed to set the canteen next to him. He tried to right himself, his ribs instantly screaming for relief. He growled, refusing to surrender, grabbing his ribs as he struggled to a sitting position. Exhausted, he gasped for every shallow breath, his head hanging, his eyes closed, and his body waging an assault on his senses.

Movement to his right startled him, his body responding sluggishly to the possible danger. Taking as deep a breath as he dared, he raised his head and focused as best he could on the Buckskin gelding that stood calmly in his stall. "Buck," he said softly. "I really am home!"

His emotions ran over him in a torrential downpour, his swollen, bruised eyes stinging, overflowing with tears. _I'm home. But is this real? Am I still dreamin'? _The chilling sound of a distant gunshot rattled Hoss to his very core. Instinctively, he reached for the gun that should have been holstered at his side. _Dadburnit! _He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and ran his hand through the tuft of hair atop his head, the pounding inside growing with each passing moment. The rush of adrenaline sent him reeling, every dull, thumping ache and stabbing, relentless pain suddenly intensified. _I am home! Gotta git up. I hafta help. I . . . _"Jag älskar dig." The words came faintly at first. Her voice spoke them, as plainly as if she were sitting next to him on the cold barn floor. _Mandy? Darlin', I'll git word to ya as soon as I . . . _ Hoss tottered sideways, holding his head in one hand as he steadied himself with the other. "Jag älskar dig." Louder this time, the words adopted an urgency that fueled Hoss's resolve. _I hear ya, Mandy, and with all my heart, I love ya, too! _"Jag älskar dig." Again, the words he'd longed to hear over the past torturous months echoed in his mind. _Jackson's here, so maybe . . . Oh, Mandy! _

With tremendous fortitude, Hoss clambered to his knees. In the corner near the back door, he spotted the old table he'd helped Adam build when they were youngsters, and his eyes widened at the sight of the rifle propped against the table's side. His chest heaving as his lungs argued his every breath, he grabbed hold of the side of Buck's stall and, pulling with shoulder muscles that challenged every inch, Hoss climbed to his unsteady feet. Leaning heavily against the wooden panel, determination wrinkled his brow. Gnashing his teeth, he survived several small steps before lunging forward against one of the barn's center supports. He clung to the post, sweat dripping from his face as he stared at the rifle across the way. _Only a few more steps. _He laughed aloud, glancing over his shoulder at the house in the distance. "And then a few more!" he whispered, a searing pain bouncing around in his chest. _You kin do this, Hoss. You hafta do this. _His hands slid away from the post, and he willed his legs to take one agonizing step at a time until finally, he reached the rifle. With its familiar cold, worn butt resting in his hands, Hoss opened the loaded chamber, a grin tugging on the corners of his mouth. He turned toward the barn door, straightened his back, and with clenched teeth, he took his first step toward vengeance.


	72. Chapter 72 - Risk and Rescue

**CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO**

**_RISK AND RESCUE_**

Reluctantly, Candy dropped his guns to the floor and raised his hands in surrender while at the same moment, Adam slid Flint's gun across the way.

As Adam rose to his feet, he managed a secretive glance at Candy, the tiniest smile creeping across his mouth. _Jackson thinks Candy is Joe! That little mistake gives us an ace in the hole! Little Brother, whatever you're planning's just given us an advantage._

With Adam and 'Joe' now unarmed, Jackson wore a smug grin. "I must admit, I'm enjoying this," Jackson crowed, ambling backward to the doorway with Amanda in tow, his gun targeting Amanda's unborn child. "The high and mighty Cartwrights all together for the big surprise!"

Candy flashed Adam a knowing glance.

"And my little wife," Jackson continued, his mouth against Amanda's ear as he revealed the first part of his plan, "resting comfortably in the bosom of her newfound family, sharing her grief over the loss of the man who took another man's wife to his bed!"

Outraged by Jackson's words, Ben marshaled his strength and bounded forward in his bed. "Let Amanda go!" he shouted, his breath catching between his words. "Whatever . . . you have planned," he gasped, holding his seeping bandages tightly, "take me instead!"

Without pause, Jackson tossed his head back and wailed, his sinister laughter shrill and haunting. "The king of the Ponderosa offers himself up for the whore of the Ponderosa! Or maybe, the king only cares about the heir apparent! Either way, the king is going to be quite disappointed . . . and very much dead!"

In the hallway Joe seethed, his fury on the verge of exploding. Through gritted teeth, he inhaled deeply, said a silent prayer, and then immediately thrust himself into the room, the cold steel of his gun barrel dimpling the skin in Jackson's back. "Let her go, Findley!" Joe warned, his breath hitting Jackson squarely on the back of his neck. "And tell him to drop his gun or I'll blow a hole in your spine!"

Afraid of exposing his deception, Hiller was forced to stand guard over Ben, ignoring the man's raspy breathing.

"Well, now, who do we have here?" Jackson asked, amused. "No matter," he continued without answer. "Whoever you are, you seem to be missing one little bit of information."

"I don't care about your information," Joe said, shoving the gun deeper into Jackson's skin, "I told you to let her go!"

"He's got a gun," Adam warned, his tone dripping with contempt, "and it's pointed at the baby."

Joe's lips parted as he exhaled, the tension in his jaw quivering his chin. He looked first to his brother and saw the helpless rage painted across his face. Next he sought out his father, and when Ben nodded, Joe saw blood oozing between the fingers that clung to his bandages.

"What's it gonna be?" Jackson shouted angrily, curling his fingers tighter around Amanda's throat.

"Please . . ." she gasped, "please . . . Joe."

Joe's heart shattered as Amanda pleaded with him to drop his gun. In his mind, he knew he could pull the trigger fast enough and paralyze Jackson before Jackson could register his own fate. But as images of Amanda lying on the floor, whispering Hoss's name on her last breath, flashed in front of his eyes, Joe knew the risk was far too great.

Jackson smirked as the pressure on his back disappeared, and when Joe's guns thumped against the floor, a roaring laugh erupted from his chest. "Checkmate!" he snarled, turning to face Joe. "Hiller!" Jackson shouted. "Tie those two to the bed!" he ordered, nodding toward Joe and Candy. "And get his hands tied, too!" he added, glaring at Adam. "And be quick about it! I'm growing impatient."

Hiller's pulse soared. _This is it. This is my only chance. I've gotta do something before that lunatic murders us all! _He holstered his gun and gathered the remaining strips of cloth from the bedside table. He grabbed Candy's wrists, led him to the sturdy post at the foot of Ben's bed, swung his arms behind his back, and performed all of the motions that would satisfy Jackson. _I don't know you, mister, but please, whatever ya do, don't let on what I'm doin'!_ Next, he advanced on Joe, and for the first time since Joe had burst into the room, recognition filled his eyes.

"I know you," Joe thought. "Hill something. Hiller! That's it, Hiller!" Joe opened his mouth, ready to condemn the former ranch hand when he felt his wrists being bound so loosely to the other post that he could easily shuck himself free of the cloth. Joe's eyes met Candy's, and his hopes were confirmed.

Adam's watchful eye caught the subtle glances, and when Hiller left his bindings slackened as well, Adam felt a flicker of optimism for them all.

"Now what, Mr. Findley?" Hiller asked.

Jackson swelled at Hiller's obedience, nodding his head in approval. "Well-done, Hiller," he remarked, nodding his head at Hiller's obedience, "well-done!" With one hand, Jackson forced Amanda's head to the side. He groaned, leaned in, and kissed her neck.

Amanda retched, venomous tears stinging her eyes.

"Now," Jackson announced, his voice filled with an eerie calm, "it's time for my darling Amanda's surprise!" He spun Amanda to face him and for the first time since he'd stormed the room and captured her in his malevolent arms, their eyes met in a blaring stare. Without warning, Jackson jerked her forward, violently kissing her lips as she squirmed and moaned in his grasp.

Ben's jaw set rigidly beneath his seething rage. Candy looked to Adam as they both worked at their bindings, hoping for a signal that would mark the beginning of Jackson's demise. Joe, his blood boiling as he tried to block out Amanda's pleas, twisted his wrists and pulled on the cloth.

"Findley!" Adam yelled, still working his wrists behind his back. "Let the girl go!" he demanded, suddenly overcome with desperation, the need to rescue his family in both the bedroom and the barn shutting out all reason. "Untie my hands and we'll see just how big a man you really are!"

"Adam!" Ben cried, his warning laced with fear.

Candy joined Adam's challenge as he, too, worked to stretch the loosened strips of cloth that bound his hands. "He's right, Findley! So far, all we've seen from you is that you're capable of throwing around orders and frightening a woman!"

Amanda's stricken eyes pleaded with Adam's, her words muffled now by Jackson's hand.

Sudden images of Hoss lying in the barn triggered Adam's inner strength, and familiar words echoed in his mind: "Jag älskar dig." The words, heard in Hoss's vulnerable voice, fed Adam's fury.

Jackson bristled, his hold on Amanda pressing painfully against her ribs. "You forget who has the gun," he cautioned, brandishing his weapon in front of him for all to see, "and you forget that she's not a woman! She's a worthless, cheating whore!"

"There's too much at stake," Adam thought, his heart thumping, his mouth dry. "This ends here and now!" The game had come to a draw, and Adam was prepared to call Jackson's bluff. He stepped forward, gambling on Jackson's bully-boy cowardice.

In an instant, the room exploded in a harsh jumble. Deep voices cried out and a scream ripped into Adam's soul as a fiery pain tore through his flesh.


	73. Chapter 73 - The Threshold of Revenge

**CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE**

**_THE THRESHOLD OF REVENGE_**

Amanda's shattering wail masked Ben's agonizing cry. Calling to his son, he rolled to his side, frantic to manage even a glimpse of his eldest son's fallen body, the movement ripping at his wound. At the foot of the bed, Candy and Joe desperately battled to free themselves. Candy's wrist snapped as he twisted his hands, his painful cry stifled in his throat. Only steps away, Jackson waved his gun, ranting and aiming from one person to the next amid Amanda's wrenching sobs.

"This is even more fulfilling than I ever imagined!" Jackson laughed. "All those months I sat in prison, dreaming of how easy it was going to be to filch your precious Lucky A right out from under your nose!" Jackson shoved the gun against Amanda's ribs. "And then" he yelled, dropping his head to Amanda's neck, his hot, vile breath touching her skin as he whispered, "I get word that you're whoring around with a Cartwright!" Jackson pressed his fingers against her cheekbones.

Amanda closed her eyes, the force of Jackson's grip releasing a scream into the palm of his hand. With tears flowing, she opened her eyes to see Joe, his face intense with anger, tugging on the quivering bedpost.

Once again, Jackson flailed his gun from side to side, settling this time on Candy. Amanda felt Jackson tense against her, and silently, she begged for a miracle.

"I suppose you all knew that my wife was sleeping with Hoss! Didn't you?" Jackson bellowed. "And you see, that's why I spent the rest of my prison sentence planning this little surprise for all of you! And to think, it all began with me calling in a few favors, and my men tracking Hoss Cartwright to Sidewinder Bluff!"

Scraps of the truth had trickled from Jackson's lips since the moment he'd burst into Ben's room, and the mention of Sidewinder Bluff launched a numbing realization in the hearts of Amanda, Ben, and Joe: Jackson was responsible for Hoss's death.

"You killed my brother!" Joe cried, his lips drawn back tightly, his chest heaving with angered breaths. Joe wriggled his wrist, bending it closer to his arm than he thought possible until at last, his hand slipped free of the circle of cloth.

In Jackson's arms, Amanda wilted. "Well now, what's this?" Jackson growled, hugging Amanda forcefully. "Is the fight creeping out of my darling wife?" He jerked her body closer, her muffled sobs delighting his psychotic ego. "Do you want to know what I did to your precious lover?"

"Findley!" Ben snarled, anger jumbling amid anguish. "Don't!"

Jackson, seeping deeper into his delusions, continued his boastful retelling of Hoss's ordeal. "Let's see," Jackson said, "where to begin? Ah, yes, I was in prison and my lovely wife here was sitting at The Lucky A waiting for her lover to pay a call. But old Hoss was lying hurt and all alone at the bluff. Imagine my joy when word got to me that my men had simply walked up and snatched Hoss easy as could be!" Amanda shuddered in his tightened grasp.

Jackson glanced at Flint's dead body. "When your precious Hoss came to, Flint there said he was half out of his mind from the snake bites and meaner than a rabid dog! Seems Hoss didn't appreciate his . . . accommodations!" Jackson threw his head back, his eyes gleaming with sinister delight.

"You shackled him to the walls of that mine!" Candy yelled, grasping the impact of his rage all too late.

"You WHAT?" Ben cried.

"What's the matter, King Cartwright?" Jackson bellowed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Does it bother you to think of your son starving, begging for water, chained to the walls, iron manacles cutting into the flesh of his wrists . . ."

Ben's distress drew Jackson's attention, holding it just long enough for Candy to free his hands and flash a knowing signal to Joe.

"standing barefoot in his own waste . . ."

Ben slowly lowered his head, crippled by the notion of his son suffering at the hands of Jackson and his men.

"You bastard!" Amanda cried, her outburst rewarded with a crushing squeeze across her chest. Gasping for air, Amanda once again felt the jarring force of Jackson's fingers prodding into her cheeks.

Jackson's sadistic rant continued as Hoss's bruised and bloodied body flashed in Candy's mind, the only thing preventing him from charging the crazed Findley: the gun lingering against Amanda's body.

Next to Candy, Joe sat, enraged. His jaw ached, his clenched teeth grinding as he pictured his brother's last minutes as Jackson's captive. He studied Jackson carefully, hoping for a weakness in his hold on Amanda. _If only he'd move that gun! I can't risk Amanda and the baby! _Behind his back, his fisted fingers stiffened, his legs tense, his chest heaving.

"Mind you now," Jackson continued, "if Hoss had seen fit to obey my men, they wouldn't have had to, shall we say . . . discipline him as often as they did."

"Discipline him!" Ben exclaimed. "You mean torture! You tortured my son before you killed him!"

"Your son was not my guest!" Jackson cried, aggravated by Amanda's sobs and slipping nearer to his breaking point. "He was my prisoner! And while my men were busy seeing to it that he suffered, you were busy searching tirelessly for his remains at the bluff! And as I was arranging my escape from prison, you were planning a mourning period for your son."

A soft moan diverted Amanda's attention and, while Jackson carried on about his revenge, she stole a glance at the floor. Adam wore a grimace on his face as he slowly drew his right knee from the floor. His efforts were strained, the exertion draining him as his knee fell back against the floor.

Joe and Candy caught sight of Adam's movement, and while Jackson busied himself with his threats, they saw Adam's eyes open briefly – just long enough to pass a silent suggestion to Candy and Joe.

"Imagine my shock," Jackson continued, "when I found that my devoted wife had made the trip to Virginia City to join in the bereavement. But even my escape from that hell hole was but a balm to the pain of knowing that my wife had taken to another man's bed!" Jackson's gun dropped lower, the barrel resting against the baby. "And now I find this!" Jackson thrust his gun deeper against Amanda, his finger sliding along the silver trigger.

Joe bristled. _He's going to kill her! Right here in front of Pa . . . in front of all of us. _He glanced at Candy, his eyes revealing the steps he prayed would save Amanda and her child.

"I'll do anything," Amanda pled, her words mangled as they escaped between Jackson's fingers. "Just don't hurt my baby!"

"Don't you ever . . ." Jackson spat, his threatening voice escalating, "mention that bastard child . . ." he growled, his arm pressing against Amanda's chest, "in my presence again!"

"Why don't you point that thing at me?" Candy shouted, his challenge an immediate success.

With the thirst for revenge burning within him, Jackson raised his gun, aimed it directly at Candy, and clicked the hammer into place.

"NOW!" Adam shouted, rolling quickly to his side, his diversion a necessary risk.

Candy darted to the left as Joe sprung forward, outstretched hands grasping toward Jackson's gun. Amanda did her part, letting herself fall suddenly limp, throwing Jackson off balance as he struggled to maintain his hold on her.

Jackson had managed to right himself and, still clinging to Amanda and sensing Joe's imminent attack, decided that the moment of revenge was upon him. Brutally, he shoved her forward, Amanda landing roughly on the bottom of the bed. Jackson raised his arm and aimed his gun at Amanda's trembling body. Joe rushed at Jackson's outstretched arm, his fingertips stabbing into Jackson's flesh. They wrestled for the gun, the metal barrel twinkling as it shifted back and forth in the sunlight.

Joe's eyes met Jackson's, their premature gleam of victory urging Joe's attack. His unyielding muscles quivering, Joe's face, frozen in painful contortion, spewed hatred and loathing. He grunted as his stance widened, the torque from his wrists slowly edging the gun between their chests. Sweat cascaded down his face and neck, his jaw clenched, and he bit into his lower lip. The metallic taste of blood invigorated his effort and he growled as he forced the gun's barrel away from his own chest and toward the chest of Jackson FIndley.

Jackson sneered, spittle dripping from his mouth. "You're doing this . . . risking your life for that . . . whore?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Joe felt the trigger against his finger, the barrel pressing against Jackson's chest. Joe's eyes flared. "I'm doing this . . . for Amanda and for . . . my . . . br . . ."

The flash from the shot illuminated the space and, for precious seconds, the explosion, jumbled with Amanda's piercing scream, echoed against the walls of the bedroom. Candy steadied Adam as he pitched forward, both men gaping at the sight unfolding before their eyes.

Joe and Jackson, their bodies motionless, stood facing each other just inside of the doorway. Slowly, pathetic laughter tinged with bright red blood trickled from Jackson's mouth. "Surprise," he muttered, his body slithering toward the floor.

Joe shuddered, the grip of the gun growing heavy in his hand. _I didn't pull the . . . _As the vibrations of the blast abandoned his ears, he heard his father calling out his name. His chin quivered, and as he lowered his eyes toward the limp body crumpled lifelessly on the floor, the unimaginable appeared before Joe's eyes.

"Ho . . . Hoss . . ." Joe sputtered, eyes wide with shock at the sight of his older brother kneeling in the hallway, his chest heaving, a smoking rifle in his grasp.


	74. Chapter 74 - Miracles

**CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR**

**_MIRACLES_**

Amid the chaos of the gunshot, no one heard Joe's desperate whisper. He clung to the doorframe, sweat from his forehead stinging as it trickled into his eyes. Gasping for each precious breath, the brutal grapple for the gun suddenly became a distant memory. He blinked, and blinked again, the contrary apparition before him growing clearer rather than withering away. When the vision raised its weary head, Joe struggled to take even the shallowest of breaths. Frozen in place, he feared he'd been the one shot, that his inability to move or inhale meant that he surely had perished, and that the image before him meant he'd joined his brother in the afterlife.

"Joe?" a voice whispered, a question of recognition.

The piercing, sadly-passionate eyes, their brilliant blue color paled with anguish, begged for Joe's response. For a brief second, he studied their intensity and the bond he'd mourned for months reached across the space, swaddling his heart in a warm, soothing embrace.

"Hoss," Joe said, his lips forming the precious name, his voice abandoning his efforts to speak.

Joe wasn't sure if Hoss attempted a nod, or if the strained muscles in his neck simply surrendered. He watched his brother's head fall forward as his body, balancing precariously on his knees, countered the wave of exhaustion that threatened to topple him.

"Help me," Hoss whispered, his swollen lips parting in the thinnest of lines.

With no recollection of how, Joe was suddenly out in the hallway, at Hoss's side. Reaching for his shoulders with trembling hands, Joe's fingers grasped the cloth of Hoss's tattered, sweat and blood-caked shirt. Reality washed over Joe with the force of a raging river.

Hoss lifted his head and found Joe's weeping eyes. "I gotta . . ." he mumbled, his weight falling against Joe's waiting arms. Hoss scraped the toes of his right foot along the floor as he drew his leg forward, and Joe called on bruised muscles as he steadied his brother.

"Take it easy, Hoss," Joe said. "You wait here, and I'll go and get . . ."

"No, Joe," Hoss muttered. "I gotta see Mandy."

Hoss raised his left arm, landing it heavily atop Joe's shoulder.

"Hoss, let me get . . ."

"I'm goin' ta see Mandy," Hoss insisted, "and . . . Pa, 'n' . . ."

"Hoss, you need to stay right . . ."

Hoss inhaled, his chest rising with unexpected strength. "Joe," he said, his eyes blazing, "help me, or I'm gonna pound you!"

A grin spread across Joe's lips as tears streamed down his face. "I'll help you, Hoss," he cried, "I'll help you."

Inside the bedroom, Jackson lay dead, his lifeless body sprawled in front of the dresser. A flurry of movement passed by his form; a reflection of the compassion felt between those in the room and the harsh reality of the life that was Jackson Findley.

With her head still buried safely against Ben's shoulder, Amanda glanced down at her husband's body, her eyes brimming with the hatred he'd so brutally earned. She pulled her eyes away and raised her head, turning quickly to the man who would soon be her child's grandfather. Besieged by a threatening torrent of tears and a longing to hide herself away from the reality of Hoss's last days, she focused instead on Ben's labored breathing and the crimson bandages coming loose from his wound. Lifting the small, soaked ties of the cloth, she felt Ben's studying eyes. Her attempt at a comforting smile failed, and when she finally summoned the courage to return Ben's glance, she saw in his eyes the same sorrow and anger that shone brightly in her own. Returning to the bandages, she twitched when a warm, comforting hand grasped her shoulder. Her head spun to the right, and she found Adam, his concerned eyes darting from his father to her and back again. Sudden movement on her left triggered another flinch as Candy approached and situated a small stack of clean, cloth strips alongside of Ben. She glanced at Ben and tried to return his encouraging smile and, once again, her thoughts drifted to Hoss and the torment he'd suffered at the hands of Jackson. She strangled a sob, inhaling deeply as Adam stepped in, carefully raising his father's chest from the bed. Ben moaned loudly, the toll of their nightmare draining what little strength he'd had.

As she wrapped the cloth around Ben's chest and shoulder, Jackson's terrifying voice assaulted her mind. _I killed your lover! The Lucky A is mine, and so are you! _Amanda shuddered as the image of Jackson's satisfied grin and haunting laughter pierced the depths of her soul. Try as she might, she couldn't halt the horrendous thoughts bombarding her mind. _You whore! Don't you ever mention that bastard child in my presence again! _Glancing down at her expanding middle, Amanda choked back a sob and returned her focus to the task at hand. She shivered, her hands trembling as she dropped the folds of cloth. But before she could pick them up, she felt them being placed gently into her palm. She looked up, nodded blankly at Adam and Candy, and continued with the bandages.

"Adam," Candy whispered, leaning closely. "Someone should check on . . . Joe."

Adam tensed, his uncertainty vanishing with one glance toward the hallway. "You stay with them," he whispered, nodding at his father and Amanda.

Amanda barely noticed Adam's immediate departure, but instead continued wrapping fresh bandages, one by one, around Ben's torso. Silently, she stole a glance upward, only to be enveloped in Ben's soft, concerned gaze. Again, tears flooded her eyes and distorted her vision, and she lowered her eyes and continued wrapping.

"Amanda," Ben said lovingly, "are you alright, my dear?"

_All right?_ Amanda bit her lower lip, and then drew her lips together tightly. Numb, she reached for more bandages and continued to swaddle Ben in crisp, white linen, all the while fighting back tears as she tried to block out the distorted voices all around her. _These two are dead: Flint 'n' Jackson. Lemme check this here other one._ Amanda's jaw clenched. Her eyes opened wide, making room for the tears she fought to hold at bay, but they broke free, cascading down her cheeks and onto her neck. She closed her eyes, hoping to lock her thoughts away, but instead, the sound of the thud when Randall's head struck the dresser resounded in her mind. The fleeting look she'd stolen scorched her memory, a look that seemed a lifetime ago.

"Amanda," Ben said, his tone tender and compassionate, "Hiller will stay with me." As he searched the room for his eldest son, Ben was puzzled by Adam's disappearance. His concern was tucked away the moment a whimper escaped Amanda's lips. "Candy, get her out of here. Take her to her room?"

"No," Amanda said, as she wound the linen around Ben's chest one final time. Her fingers trembled as she fussed with the ties, her mind conjuring up scenes of Hoss, shackled to the cold, dark walls of a mine shaft while Jackson stood by, his vicious laughter ringing in her ears. _You took my wife to your bed! And now, you're going to die! And you have no one to blame but yourself, and that whore Amanda!_ She jerked abruptly when Ben's gentle hands covered hers. Renewed by his simple touch, she finished the knots, watching them cross and loop through swollen, blurred eyes.

_This other one, Mr. Cartwright . . . He's dead, too. Who is he, anyway?_ Amanda heaved and swallowed hard, the bile creeping its way into her throat halted by the lump of sorrow blocking the way. "His name is . . . was Randall, and he was my friend," she said softly, her voice dulled by her pain. "The best friend I ever had until . . . until I met . . . ." Suddenly, Amanda stepped back from the bed. With her shoulders slumped, her eyes zipped back and forth. She seemed unable to focus on anything that existed in the room, yet her eyes made contact with one reality that tormented her soul. "This is my fault," she said, nodding eerily as she stared into nothingness. "Randall is dead. He wouldn't have come here if . . . It's my fault." Ben offered his hand, reaching toward Amanda. Shaking her head, she slowly backed away, her chest rising and falling with fervor.

"Amanda, please . . ." Ben said.

"No," Amanda cut in, waving her arms as she wandered aimlessly around the room. "I've done enough." Her voice became angry and her steps quickened. "I testified against Jackson and a man like that would never let go of the hate born

of that kind of betrayal. I should have known . . . and then I met Hoss."

"Aman . . ." Ben called.

"It's all my fault! Oh, God, help me," she cried. Grasping the window sill, she unknowingly ran her hands along the razor-sharp edges of the shattered glass.

Ben called to her again. "You've cut your hands, Amanda. Please, come here. Let Candy help . . ."

Ignoring Ben's pleas and Candy's extended hand, Amanda sobbed as blood trickled between her fingers. "I fell in love with him! I couldn't help it. He was everything that I needed! And he made me feel needed in return!" She pushed away from the window, her body quaking as she wept. Facing the bed, she wrapped her arms over her stomach. "All I wanted was for Hoss's child to know his family. I came here hoping that you'd love this baby as much as I do. And look what I've done! I repayed Hoss by leading Jackson to his family! How could I? It's my fault that Randall is dead. Adam and Candy and Joe are hurt because of me!" Amanda backed away from the bed, her trembling body tottering with each small step. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Cartwright! I was so happy with your son! Hoss cherished you, all of you, and he loved you so very much, and I just wanted my baby to feel that love in return."

Ben and Candy exchanged worried glances. "Adam! We need you in here!" Ben yelled in frustration, hoping Amanda would allow him to minister to her needs.

"It's my fault!" Amanda whispered, gasping for each breath as she clutched her hands to her chest. Her frightened eyes wandered aimlessly around the room, and she drew herself close, trying to shrink herself against the walls that crept closer and closer.

"Amanda, please, come here and sit down," Ben said, his eyes darting for the doorway. "Adam!"

Suddenly, Amanda gasped, her head shaking from side to side. "Oh!" she screamed, her hands flying to her mouth, blood from her cuts dripping between her fingers. "What have I done?" Her eyes, overrun with surging tears, squinted tensely. "It's my fault that Jackson kidnapped Hoss!" Trembling as she weaved from side to side, her eyes grew wide with agonizing insight. "Oh, God, he tortured him! And I am at fault! I am responsible for the death of my baby's father! I . . . I killed Hoss!"

"No," Candy cried, "you didn't . . ."

"Adam! Joe!" Ben cried, rolling to his side and swinging his legs off the bed, desperate to reach Amanda. He groaned loudly, his scowl a meager accounting of the pain shooting through his chest. _Where are my sons? Why can't they hear me calling . . ._

"I should have gone away," Amanda cried, pacing in her own private hell. "None of this would have happened! If only I'd disappeared!"

Frantic to soothe Amanda's anguish, Ben called to her, pleading for the life he knew she held above her own. "Amanda," he said firmly, "you must think of your child, of my grandchild . . . of Hoss's daughter!"

Without looking back at Ben, Amanda took two more steps, bumping harshly into the front of the chair that faced the window. "My child?" she whispered, the longing of a mother for her baby bathing her face. "Hoss's tiny daughter." She collapsed into the chair, weeping. "Oh, Hoss, I'm so sorry, my love . . ." Amanda dropped her head into blood-stained hands, her sobs echoing against the walls of the bedroom.

But her wailing did not go unnoticed. With the help of his brothers, Hoss crossed the threshold into the room, her heart-wrenching sobs fueling his resolve. At the sight of Amanda, his blue eyes glistened with tears of his own, and with all his remaining strength, he muttered but one eternal word: "Mandy."

~~ finis ~~


End file.
